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The  Little  Beggar  Girl.— (Page  18.) 


SONGS    AND    STORIES, 


MOTHER'S     DARLING 


PHILADELPHIA : 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &   CO. 

1873. 


CONTENTS 


The  Eagle Page    9 

A  Story  for  Little  Boys 13 

A  Family  Scene  16 

Thinking  of  Mercies  18 

Who  made  them? 19 

Love  and  Duty  to  Parents 21 

The  Joys  of  Self-will 22 

My  Little  Pony 25 

The  Caught  Eobin 27 

Little  Minnie 33 

Infant's  Prayer 36 

James  and  the  Apple 37 

Going  to  Kest 39 

Nature's  Words  to  her  Pupil 41 

Little  Lotty 43 

My  Cousin  Florine 45 

The  Butterfly 47 

Little  Mary  49 

Only  Just  Inside  the  Pence  50 

The  Child's  Wish 53 

The  Idle  are  always  Unhappy . 55 

Evening  Hymn 60 

(Vii) 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

Voices  ,,... 61 

Morning  Prayer 63 

My  Mother's  Grave  64 

The  Sunbeam,  Dew-drop,  and  Rose 66 

When  I'm  a  Man 70 

Little  Things 72 

My  Younger  Sister 73 

Cousin  Lou 77 

Advice  in  Rhymes 79 

I  mean  to  be  Good  to-day 81 

Good  Advice  for  Little  Ones 84 

A  Child's  Thoughts 85 

Wild  Flowers 87 

A  Story 89 

A  Good-night  Song  91 

The  Presence  of  God , 92 

Oh,  Hark!  the  Baby  Cries 93 

The  Farmer  and  his  Son 95 

Annie 96 

The  Murmuring  Fountain 99 

Be  Pleasant 104 

Evening  Prayer 105 

Birds  in  Summer 106 

The  Two  Advisers 109 

The  Child's  Prayer 114 

The  Canary  Bird 115 

A  Child's  Prayer 117 

The  Strayed  Lamb 118 

My  First  and  Last  Theft 119 

Flowers 125 

The  Little  Dormouse  126 


SONGS  AND  STORIES. 


THE   EAGLE. 

No,  not  in  the   meadow,  and  not   on    the 

shore ; 
And    not   on   the   wide   heath   with   i  irze 

covered  o'er, 
Where  the  cry  of  the  plover,  the  hum  of 

the  bee, 
Give  a  feeling  of  joyful  security; 

(9) 


10  THE    EAGLE. 

And  not  in  the  wood,  where  the  nightingale's 

song, 
From  the  chesnut  and  orange  pours  all  the 

day  long; 
And  not  where  the  martin  has  built  in  the 

eaves, 
And  the  redbreast  e'er  covered  the  children 

with  leaves, 
Shall  ye  find  the  proud  eagle !     0  no,  come 

away; 
I  will  show  you  his  dwelling,  and  point  out 

his  prey ! 
Away !  let  us  go  where  the  mountains  are 

high, 
With  tall  splintered  peaks  towering  into  the 

sky; 
Where  old  ruin'd    castles   are   dreary  and 

lone, 
And  seem  as  if  built  for  a  world  that  is 

gone; 


THE    EAGLE.  11 

There,  up  on  the  topmost  tower,  black  as  the 

night, 
Sits  the  old  monarch  eagle  in  full  blaze  of 

light : 
He  is  king  of  these  mountains :  save  him 

and  his  mate, 
No   eagle   dwells   here;    he   is   lonely  and 

great! 
Look,  look   how   he   sits !    with   his   fierce 

glancing  eye, 
And  his  proud  head  thrown  back,  looking 

into  the  sky ; 
And  hark  to  the  rush  of  his  outspreading 

wings, 
Like  the  coming  of  tempest,  as  upward  he 

springs ; 
And  now  how  the  echoing  mountains   are 

stirred, 
For   that   was   the   cry   of  the   eagle  you 

heard ! 


12  THE    EAGLE. 

Now,  see  how  he  soars !  like  a  speck  in  the 

height 
Of  the  blue  vaulted  sky,  and  now  lost  in 

the  light ! 
And  now  downward  he  wheels  as  a  shaft 

from  a  bow 
By  a  strong  archer  sent,  to  the  valleys  below  ! 
And  that  is  the   bleat   of  a  lamb   of  the 

flock ; — 
One  moment,  and  he  re-ascends  to  the  rock, — 
Yes,  see  how  the  conqueror  is  winging  his 

way — 
And  his  terrible  talons   are   holding   their 

prey ! 

Great   bird  of  the  wilderness !   lonely  and 

proud, 
With  a  spirit  unbroken,  a  neck  never  bowed, 
With  an  eye  of  defiance,  august  and  severe, 
Who  scorn'st  an  inferior,  and  hatest  a  peer, 


A   STORY  FOR   LITTLE   BOYS.  13 

What   is   it   that   giveth   thee  beauty  and 

worth  ? 
Thou  wert  made  for  the  desolate  places  of 

earth ; 
To  mate  with  the  tempest,  to  match  with 

the  sea; 
And  God  showed  his  power  in  the  lion  and 

thee! 


A  STORY  FOR  LITTLE  BOYS. 

There  are  a  great  many  good  boys,  and 
we  are  sorry  to  say,  many  bad  ones  too.  We 
wish  all  boys  were  good  ones,  then  we  should 
have  no  stories  to  tell  about  bad  ones.  This 
time  we  are  going  to  tell  you  of  two  boys, 
one  good  and  the  other  bad.  They  both 
lived  in  the  State  of  Ohio.  Perhaps  some 
of  our  young  readers  may  know  them. 


14  A   STORY  FOR   LITTLE   BOYS. 

Charles  was  the  name  of  the  good  boy. 
He  was  an  only  son.  He  was  always  obe- 
dient to  his  parents,  and  kind  to  his  little 
sister. 

One  day  his  mother  gave  him  two  apples 
to  take  with  him  to  school.  He  was  a  kind 
and  generous  lad,  and  on  meeting  Henry, 
another  boy  whom  he  knew,  he  politely 
offered  him  one  of  his  apples.  This  boy  did 
not  like  to  go  to  school  nor  to  read  good  books. 
He  was  very  rude,  and  took  the  apple  with- 
out thanking  Charles  for  it.  And,  what  was 
still  worse,  he  knocked  the  other  apple  out 
of  his  hand  into  the  mud. 

This  was  a  very  unkind  act;  and  what 
do  you  think  Charles  did?  What  would 
you  do  if  any  one  should  treat  you  so?  We 
will  tell  you  what  this  good  boy  did.  He 
was  quite  small,  and  younger  than  the 
naughty  boy,  yet  he  did  not  cry  nor  lose  his 


A   STORY  FOR   LITTLE   BOYS.  15 

temper,  but  stood  up  calmly  and  bravely, 
looking  him  in  the  face,  and  said,  kindly, 
"  I  think  your  mother  never  taught  you  the 
Golden  Rule." 

Henry  thought  he  would  make  Charles 
angry,  and  get  him  to  fight,  but  he  was  quite 
mistaken.  He  thought  it  strange  that  a 
little  boy  should  talk  as  Charles  did,  and  he 
turned  and  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  the 
Golden  Rule. 

Charles  told  him  that  it  was,  "Do  to 
others  as  you  would  have  them  do  to  you." 
On  hearing  this  he  looked  ashamed  and  went 
away ;  and  we  hope  he  has  since  become  a 
better  boy.  Perhaps  that  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  heard  of  the  Golden  Rule.  As 
Charles  went  on  to  school  he  must  have  felt 
happy  that  he  had  acted  so  bravely  and 
wisely. 

Now,  little  boys,  what  do  you  think  of 


16  A    FAMILY    SCENE. 

Charles  ?  Don't  you  think  he  was  a  braver 
boy  than  if  he  had  become  angry,  and  gone 
to  fighting  ?  Now  I  want  to  ask  you  once 
more,  what  would  you  have  done  had  you 
been  treated  as  little  Charles  was  ?  Would 
you  have  said,  "I  won't  stand  it;  I'll  pay 
him  back?"  This  would  not  have  been 
"  doing  good  for  evil." 


A   FAMILY   SCENE. 

How  beautiful  it  is  for  children  to  early 
form  the  love  and  habit  of  being  useful. 
See  how  this  beauty  is  set  forth  in  the  fol- 
lowing Family  Scene,  by  Mrs.  Sigourney  : — 

u  I  have  lost  my  whole  fortune,"  said  a 
merchant,  as  he  returned  one  evening  to  his 
home  ;  "  we  can  no  longer  keep  our  carriage ; 
we  must  leave  this  large  house.     The  chil- 


A    FAMILY    SCENE.  17 

dren  can  no  longer  go  to  expensive  schools. 
Yesterday  I  was  a  rich  man — to-day,  there 
is  nothing  that  I  can  call  my  own." 

"Dear  husband,"  said  the  wife,  "waare 
still  rich  in  each  other  and  in  our  children. 
Money  may  pass  away,  but  God  has  given 
us  a  better  treasure  in  the  active  hands  and 
loving  hearts." 

"Dear  father,"  said  the  children,  " do  not 
look  so  sober.  We  will  help  you  to  get  a 
living." 

"  What  can  you  do,  poor  things  ?"  said  he. 

"You  shall  see — you  shall  see!"  said  se- 
veral voices.  "  It  is  a  pity  if  we  have  been 
to  school  for  nothing.  How  can  the  father 
of  eight  children  be  poor  ?  We  will  work 
and  make  you  rich  again." 

Such  children  are  true  riches  to  any  man. 
X.  — b  2 


18  THINKING    OF    MERCIES. 

THINKING  OF  MERCIES. 

(See  Frontispiece.) 

Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad. 

How  many  poor  I  see ; 
What  shall  I  render  to  my  God 

For  all  his  gifts  to  me  ? 

Not  more  than  others  I  deserve, 
Yet  God  has  given  me  more ; 

For  I  have  food,  while  others  starve, 
Or  beg  from  door  to  door. 

How  many  children  in  the  street 

Half  naked  I  behold ; 
While  I  am  clothed  from  head  to  feet, 

And  covered  from  the  cold. 

While  some  poor  creatures  scarce  can  tell 
Where  they  may  lay  their  head, 

[  have  a  home  wherein  to  dwell, 
And  rest  upon  my  bed. 


WHO    MADE    THEM?  19 

While  others  early  learn  to  swear. 

And  curse,  and  lie,  and  steal, 
Lord,  I  am  taught  thy  name  to  fear, 

And  do  thy  holy  will. 

Are  these  thy  favors,  day  by  day, 

To  me  above  the  rest  ? 
Then  let  me  love  thee  more  than  they 

And  try  to  serve  thee  best. 


Watts. 


WHO  MADE   THEM? 

"  Mother,  who  made  the  stars  which  light 
The  beautiful  blue  sky  ? 
Who  made  the  moon,  so  clear  and  bright, 
That  rises  up  on  high  ?" 

u  'T  was  God,  my  child,  the  glorious  One — 
He  formed  them  by  his  power; 
He  made  alike  the  brilliant  sun, 
And  every  leaf  and  flower. 


20  WHO    MADE    THEM? 

"  He  made  your  little  feet  to  walk, 
Your  sparkling  eyes  to  see, 
Your  busy  prattling  tongue  to  talk, 
Your  limbs  so  light  and  free. 

"  He  paints  each  fragrant  flower  that  glows 
With  loveliness  and  bloom ; 
He  gives  the  violet  and  the  rose 
Their  beauty  and  perfume. 

"  Our  various  wants  his  hands  supply, 
And  guard  us  every  hour ; 
We  're  kept  beneath  his  watchful  eye, 
And  guided  by  his  power. 

"  Then  let  your  little  heart,  my  love, 
Its  grateful  homage  pay 
To  this  kind  Friend  who,  from  above, 
So  gently  guides  your  way." 


LOYE   AND  DUTY   TO   PARENTS.  21 


LOVE  AND  DUTY  TO  PAKENTS 

My  father,  my  mother,  I  know 
I  cannot  your  kindness  repay ; 

But  I  hope  that,  as  older  I  grow, 

I  shall  learn  your  commands  to  obey. 

You  loved  me  before  I  could  tell 

Who  it  was  that  so  tenderly  smiled ; 

But  now  that  I  know  it  so  well, 
I  should  be  a  dutiful  child. 

I  'm  sorry  that  ever  I  could 

Be  wicked,  and  give  you  a  pain ; 

I  hope  I  shall  learn  to  be  good, 
And  so  never  grieve  you  again. 

But  for  fear  that  I  ever  should  dare 
From  all  your  commands  to  depart, 

Whenever  I  utter  a  prayer, 
I  will  ask  for  a  dutiful  heart. 


22  THE    JOYS    OF    SELF-WILL. 


THE  JOYS  OF  SELF-WILL. 

"  There  is  no  joy  in  life  but  in  doing  just 
what  one  pleases,"  said  Conrad. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  was  the  wise  answer 
of  his  friend  Albert. 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Conrad.  "Now, 
here  is  a  bitter  cold  morning;  so,  as  I  do 
not  like  to  be  cold,  I  shall  not  stir  out  of 
the  house,  but  have  a  fine  roaring  fire  all 
day,  and  some  clever,  witty  book  to  amuse 
me." 

Saying  this,  Conrad  slipped  on  a  loose, 
but  warm  dressing-gown,  poked  up  the  fire, 
and  hung  his  hat  and  stick  upon  the  peg 
behind  him. 

"  No  cold  walking  in  the  mire,  no  plague 
of  dressing  for  me !  Here  I  am  snug,  and 
sure  of  being  well  and  free  from  aches  and 
ailments." 


THE    JOYS    OF    SELF-WILL.  23 

Albert  laughed  to  see  him  so  selfish  and 
so  foolish,  and  left  him.  Young  Albert  was 
active,  and  willing  to  serve  and  oblige ;  so, 
when  he  quitted  his  churlish  friend,  he 
walked  to  see  his  sick  uncle,  and  to  carry 
him  some  game  he  had  killed  very  early  in 
the  morning.  His  uncle  was  much  cheered 
by  this  visit  and  his  chat;  and  whilst  he 
was  with  him,  he  wrote  some  letters,  and 
did  many  other  little  matters  for  his  uncle. 
They  dined  upon  the  game,  and  his  uncle 
said  the  pheasant  Albert  brought  was  the 
first  meat  he  had  tasted  for  a  long  while. 
After  dinner,  Albert,  leaving  his  uncle 
better  for  his  visit,  went  to  his  father's  farm, 
to  give  some  orders,  and  took  home  good 
accounts  of  all  that  was  going  on  there. 
He  then  went  into  his  own  chamber,  and 
spent  two  hours  in  reading  a  book  his 
father  wished  him  to  study.     By  this  time 


24  THE    JOYS    OF    SELF-WILL. 

tea  was  ready ;  and  his  mother  and  the  little 
ones  were  always  glad  when  Albert  joined 
the  tea-table,  he  was  so  merry,  and  so  handy, 
and  so  funny.  When  tea  was  over,  he  took 
a  lesson  upon  the  flute,  and,  with  the  help 
of  his  master,  they  had  some  good  music. 
At  nine  at  night,  Albert  jumped  up,  and 
said,  "  I  will  just  run  down  the  street  and 
peep  at  my  happy  friend  Conrad."  When 
he  reached  his  room  the  door  was  locked ; 
so  he  peeped  in  at  the  key-hole,  and  there 
he  saw  the  happy  Conrad  in  a  fit  of  rage 
and  shame.  His  book  had  been  dashed  on 
the  floor,  and  there  it  lay ;  a  cup  and  a 
bottle  of  physic  stood  on  the  table  near  him, 
and  he  was  holding  his  head,  as  if  it  ached 
very  much.  The  servant  said  Conrad  had 
been  very  cold  all  day  for  want  of  exercise, 
and  he  had  been  sick  for  want  of  air.  "  Poor 
fellow !"  cried  Albert.  "  So  much  for  the 
joys  of  the  selfish  and  the  idle !" 


MY  LITTLE   PONY. 


Hop,  hop,  hop,  nimble  as  a  top, 

Over  hill  and  valley  bounding, 

With  your  clinking  hoofs  resounding 

Flop,  hop,  hop,  nimble  as  a  top. 

(25) 


26  MY    LITTLE    PONT. 

Whoa  !  whoa  !  whoa !  how  like  fun  you  go . 

stop,  you  nag,  I  tell  you,  tell  you ; 

if  you  don't,  I  '11  surely  sell  you. 
Whoa  !  whoa !  whoa !  how  like  fun  you  go. 

Spare,  spare,  spare;  sure  enough,  we're  there; 

Yery  well,  my  little  pony ; 

Safe  \s  our  jaunt,  though  rough  and  stony: 
Spare,  spare,  spare;  sure  enough,  we're  there, 

Here,  here,  nere ;  yes,  my  pony  dear : 
Now  with  hay  and  oats  I  '11  treat  you, 
And  with  smiles  will  ever  greet  you, 

Pony  dear,  yes,  my  pony  dear. 


THE    CAUGHT    ROBIN.  27 

THE   CAUGHT   ROBIN. 

One  bright  May  morning  there  was  an 
unusual  commotion  among  the  birds  in  the 
tall  old  trees  in  the  garden.  "  What  is  the 
matter?"  asked  little  Grace,  as  she  laid 
down  her  knife  and  fork,  and  suspended  her 
breakfast  to  listen. 

"  The  cat  is  troubling  them,  I  fear,"  said 
her  mother.  So  Grace  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  around ;  but  no  cat  was  to  be  seen, 
nor  could  she  discover  any  reason  for  the 
excitement  among  the  birds.  But  the  notes 
of  alarm  continued  so  distinct  and  decisive, 
that  her  mother  herself  stepped  out  into  the 
yard  to  investigate  the  matter. 

All  our  little  readers  know  perhaps — 
certainly  all  who  are  acquainted  with  the 
habits  of  that  dear  household  bird — that  the 
robin  has  several  very  diverse  notes  which 


28  THE    CAUGHT    ROBIN. 

it  utters  as  occasion  requires.  There  is  its 
beautiful  warble,  which  is  always  so  cheering 
and  gladsome,  particularly  after  a  summer 
shower,  when  it  seems  in  such  delightful 
harmony  with  the  refreshed  and  smiling 
appearance  which  the  earth  presents.  Its 
brooding  note  is  pleasant  too,  as  it  hops  and 
nutters  about  in  the  vicinity  of  its  beloved 
nest  and  nestlings ;  but  the  note  of  alarm  is 
shrill  and  startling,  so  expressive  too  that 
no  one  can  hear  it  without  perceiving  that 
the  bird  has  some  cause  of  affright  or 
trouble. 

She  utters  it  when  she  sees  a  cruel  boy  or 
girl,  cat  or  snake,  approaching  her  nest. 
Round  and  round  she  flies,  perching  for  an 
instant  here  and  there,  while  she  repeats  her 
accent  of  distress  louder  and  shriller,  as  she 
sees  inroads  made  upon  her  best  treasures, 
her  eggs  or  little  ones.     She  utters  it  when- 


THE    CAUGHT    ROBIN.  29 

ever  any  thing  occurs  to  frighten  or  give 
her  anxiety ;  and  it  was  this  sound,  often 
repeated,  which  attracted  the  attention  of 
Grace  and  her  mother. 

Her  mother  passed  from  the  front  yard 
by  a  side  gate  into  the  garden.  When  she 
came  to  a  small  peach-tree  which  stood  near 
this   gate,  she   stopped    and    called    Grace. 

"  Softly,  dear,  but  come  quickly."  The 
little  girl  was  at  her  side  in  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  see  this  ?  Here  is  the  occasion 
of  all  this  distress,"  and  she  pointed  to  a 
large  robin  which  had  one  of  its  feet  en- 
tangled in  a  loop  of  twine  attached  to  the 
tree,  and  had  almost  wearied  itself  to  death 
in  fruitless  flutterings  to  liberate  itself. 

"  Poor  thing,"  exclaimed  Grace,  and  she 
tried  to  reach  up  to  the  branch  where  it 
hung,  but  was  not  quite  tall  enough.  So  her 
3 


30  THE    CAUGHT    ROBIN. 

mother  gently  caught  the  robin  and  dis- 
engaged its  limb  from  the  twine. 

"  0  mother,"  cried  Grace,  "  give  it  to  me, 
pray  do ;  mayn't  I  tame  it,  and  keep  it  in  a 
cage  for  my  own  ?  Yes,  mother,  do  let  me 
have  it." 

"  And  would  you  like  to  shut  up  this  dear 
robin  in  a  cage,  and  inflict  so  much  pain  and 
privation  upon  it,  just  because  an  accident 
has  placed  it  in  your  power  ?  Only  listen  to 
the  distressed  notes  of  its  mate,  flitting  so 
uneasily  about  us.  Could  you  have  the 
heart  to  do  it,  Grace  ?" 

But  Grace  looked  undecided ;  she  glanced 
at  the  serious  face  of  her  mother,  and  then 
longingly  at  the  robin  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"  I  would  be  very  kind  to  it ;  I  wouldn't 
hurt  it  for  anything,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"  I  know,  dear,  you  wouldn't  intentionally 
inflict   pain    upon  it,"  replied  her  mother; 


THE    CAUGHT    ROBIN.  31 

"but  don't  you  suppose  such  privation  and 
confinement  would  be  very  distressing  to  it  ? 
Suppose,  after  having  had  unlimited  freedom 
out  of  doors,  you  were  to  be  shut  up  in  a 
little  room  not  larger  than  our  pew  at 
church  ;  and  after  having  been  permitted  to 
pick  and  eat  all  the  fruit  and  berries  you 
wanted  anywhere,  you  were  to  be  put  on  a 
very  short  allowance  of  such  food  as  you 
did  not  like — perhaps  forgotten  altogether 
some  days — would  you  not  think  this  treat- 
ment very  hard  and  cruel  ?  And  yet  this 
is  just  what  you  propose  doing  to  this  poor 
bird,  which  was  made  to  fly  abroad  in  God's 
beautiful  blue  firmament.  Do  you  think  it 
would  be  right  ?" 

The  tears  stood  in  Grace's  eyes.  "  No, 
mother,  I  see  it  would  not.  I  am  glad  to 
have  the  robin  restored  to  its  liberty;  but  just 
let  me  take  it  in  my  hand  a  minute  first." 


32  THE    CAUGHT    ROBIN. 

Her  mother  placed  the  robin  gently  in  her 
hand  to  gratify  her  by  the  touch  of  its  soft 
plumage. 

"  We  feel  very  kindly  towards  the  bird," 
she  said,  "  but  don't  you  perceive  how  even 
our  kindness  alarms  and  distresses  it  ?  How 
its  little  heart  beats.  And  how  it  tries  to 
get  away  from  us,  though  we  have  done  it 
such  a  favor  in  releasing  it.  It  is  because 
the  robin  is  made  to  be  free ;  God  has  given 
him  the  liberty  of  the  trees,  the  fields,  the 
sky — and  no  one  has  a  right  wantonly  to  take 
it  from  him." 

Grace  kissed  the  robin  on  his  head,  and 
back,  and  wings,  and  then  opening  her  hand, 
said,  "  Good-bye,  birdie  ;"  and  away  flew  the 
captive  to  join  his  anxious  mate  on  the  tall 
larch  tree,  where  they  sang  all  summer  the 
sweetest  songs,  and  safely  reared  more  than 
one  brood  of  happy  nestlings. 


LITTLE    MINNIE.  33 


LITTLE   MINNIE. 

Art  thou  weary,  little  Minnie  ? 

Lay  thy  head  upon  my  knee ; 
It  makes  the  old  man's  heart  rejoice. 

Thy  sunny  face  to  see ; 
Well  may  the  aged  falter, 

Who  tread  life's  rugged  way ; 
When  even  little  Minnie 

Grows  weary  of  her  play. 

Tell  thee  a  story,  Minnie  ? — 

Nay,  I  am  growing  old ; 
And  all  the  stories  of  my  youth, 

Long  since  to  thee  were  told. 
But,  if  thou  'It  listen,  darling, 

There 's  something  I  would  say, 
That  you  may  oft  remember, 

When  I  have  passed  away. 
X.— c 


34  LITTLE    MINNIE. 

Minnie  !  my  holiest  thought  for  years, 

That 's  cheered  me  many  a  day, 
Is  the  memory  of  the  mother, 

Who  taught  me  first  to  pray ; 
Minnie  !  do  you  remember 

Your  gentle  mother  too, 
Whose  only  grief  in  dying 

Was  the  thought  of  leaving  you  ? 

Ah,  child,  I  mind  me  of  the  time, 

A  tiny  babe  wert  thou — 
When  the  baptismal  dew  of  Heaven 

Was  sprinkled  on  thy  brow; 
Thy  mother  gave  her  one  pet  lamb, 

One  of  Christ's  flock  to  be ; 
Now,  in  the  fields  of  Paradise, 

She  waiteth  there  for  thee. 

Ah,  Minnie  !  little  Minnie  ! 

When  at  the  close  of  day, 
You  kneel  beside  your  little  bed, 

Your  evening  prayer  to  say ; 


LITTLE    MINNIE.  35 

Then  pray  to  God  to  aid  thee. 

To  keep  thy  mother's  vow ; 
That  sin's  dark  shadow  ne'er  may  rest 

Upon  thy  fair  young  brow. 

Kemember  thy  Creator ! 

These  words  were  kindly  given, 
Even  as  a  Father's  hand,  that  leads 

His  little  ones  to  Heaven ; 
Ah !  Minnie,  closely  hold  his  hand — 

As  through  life's  path  you  roam, 
Though  rough  and  thorny  be  the  way, 

'T  will  safely  lead  you  home. 

And  when  they  lay  me  by  her  side, 

In  the  peaceful  churchyard  there, 
And  you  sometimes  gaze  with  tearful  eyes, 

Upon  this  vacant  chair, 
These  words,  perchance,  your  lonely  heart 

With  soothing  thoughts  may  fill ; 
Think,  darling,  we  who  loved  you 

Are  watching  o'er  you  still. 


36  infant's  prayer. 

Good-night,  my  little  Minnie ! 

You  're  weary  now,  I  know ; 
Yes,  twine  your  arms  around  me, 

And  kiss  me  ere  you  go ; 
Then  hie  thee  to  thy  chamber — 

Another  day  has  gone — 
Good  night,  my  precious  Minnie : 

God  bless  thee,  little  one ! 


INFANT'S  PRAYER. 

Jesus,  Saviour,  Son  of  God, 
Who  for  me  life's  pathway  trod, 
Who  for  me  became  a  child, 
Make  me  humble,  meek,  and  mild. 

I  thy  little  lamb  would  be ; 
Jesus,  I  would  follow  thee : 
Samuel  wTas  thy  child  of  old, 
Take  me,  too,  within  thy  fold. 


JAMES    AND    THE    APPLE.  37 


JAMES  AND  THE  APPLE. 

One  day  James  was  playing  in  the  yard, 
and  he  found,  by  the  side  of  the  fence,  a 
large  red  apple.  He  took  it  up  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket.  He  knew  that  it  belonged  to 
one  of  the  other  boys,  but  he  thought  he 
would  carry  it  away  alone,  and  eat  it  after 
school.  Just  then  the  bell  rang  for  the  boys 
to  go  in.  James  went  in,  and  took  his  seat, 
with  the  apple  in  his  pocket. 

All  the  rest  of  that  afternoon  James  was 
restless  and  unhappy.  There  was  something 
in  his  mind  which  seemed  to  say — "James, 
that  apple  is  not  yours ; — you  must  not  keep 
it."  This  was  conscience,  warning  James 
not  to  do  wrong.  For  he  had  not  yet  ac- 
tually done  anything  wrong.  The  apple  was 
safe  in  his   pocket.     He  had  not  had  an 


38  JAMES    AND    THE    APPLE. 

opportunity  to  give  it  to  the  boy  it  belonged 
to.  He  had  not  yet  begun  to  carry  it  away 
to  a  secret  place  to  eat  it.  But  his  con- 
science warned  him  against  the  dishonest 
act  which  he  was  going  to  do. 

James  felt  quite  uneasy  and  unhappy  all 
the  afternoon.  He  tried  to  amuse  his  mind 
by  thinking  of  something  else*;  but  he  could 
not,  until,  at  last,  just  before  school  w7as 
done,  he  resolved  that  he  would  go  and 
carry  the  apple  to  the  boy  that  it  belonged 
to.  Then  his  mind  was  relieved,  and  he 
became  quiet  and  happy  again. 

If  James  had  kept  that  apple,  as  he  in- 
tended at  first,  no  one  misrht  ever  have 
found  it  out ;  but  still  it  would  have  helped 
to  make  him  not  only  unhappy,  but  bad. 
For  no  boy  can  do  a  wrong  thing  once  with- 
out finding  it  easier  to  do  wrong  a  second 
time.    It  was  well  for  James  that  he  listened 


GOING    TO    EEST.  39 

to  what  conscience  told  him,  and  better  still 
that  he  obeyed  its  voice. 

I  am  sure  he  found  it  much  easier,  when 
temptation  met  him  again,  to  resist  it,  for 
the  rule  is  true  of  right  as  well  as  of  wrong- 
doing, that  every  time  we  make  an  effort 
to  do  well,  makes  well-doing  easier  after- 
wards. 


GOING   TO   REST. 

When  darkness  veils  the  distant  hill, 
TLe  little  birds  are  hid  and  still; 
And  I  my  sweet  repose  may  take, 
Since  my  Creator  is  awake : 

How  sweet  upon  my  little  bed, 
Since  my  Creator  guards  my  head, 
And  doth  the  little  infant  keep 
Through  all  the  hours  of  silent  sleep. 


,vv 


nature's  words  to  her  pupil.       41 


NATURE'S  WORDS  TO  HER  PUPIL. 

By  a  river  I  sat  in  the  sunset. 

What  murmured  the  river  to  thee  ? 
"  Let  thy  life's  young  tide  in  the  light  of 
love  glide 
To  the  sea  of  eternity." 

A  tree  o'er  my  head  was  waving. 
And  what  said  the  old  oak  tree  ? 
"  Learn,  learn  of  my  shade  the  weary  to  aid 
With  comfort  and  sympathy." 

A  bird  on  a  bough  was  singing. 
What  carol'd  the  merry  bird  ? 
"  Dear  child,  dost  thou  sing  hymns  of  praise 
to  thy  King, 
With  infancy's  lisping  word  ?" 


42        nature's  words  to  her  pupil. 

A  bee  came  around  me  buzzing. 
And  what  said  the  busy  bee  ? 
"  Oh,  let  not  youth's  day  pass  in  idling  away; 
Or  age  will  be  sad  to  thee." 

A  rose  at  my  side  was  blooming. 
What  whispered  the  gentle  rose  ? 
"  With  the  heart's  fresh  bloom  smile  away 
all  the  gloom 
That  care  o'er  the  hearth-stone  throws." 

A  star  came  out  in  the  twilight. 

What  word  had  the  twinkling  star? 
"  May  peace  on  thee  shine  from  the  glory 
divine. 
Where  God  and  the  angels  are !" 


LITTLE    LOTTY.  43 

LITTLE   LOTTY. 

Lotty  is  the  German  nick-name  for  Char- 
lotte. The  little  Lotty  that  I  me#n  is  the 
daughter  of  a  German  shoemaker.  Her 
father  is  only  a  journeyman,  and  works  very 
hard  to  earn  a  little  money.  Her  mother 
has  several  children  younger  than  Lotty, 
and  one  of  them  is  a  baby.  Lotty  does  most 
of  the  housework,  and  helps  with  the  cook- 
ing. To-day  she  is  ironing,  in  a  little  back 
room,  and  we  must  listen  while  she  is  talk- 
ing to  herself. 

"  There,  now,"  says  Lotty,  "  I  think  that 
neckerchief  will  do.  Father  will  look  very 
nice  in  it,  when  he  sits  in  church  to-morrow. 
I  love  to  do  anything  to  please  father:  it 
makes  him  smile  so,  and  smoothes  the 
wrinkles  out  of  his  forehead,  just  as  this 
iron  smooths  the  muslin. 


44  LITTLE    LOTTY. 

"  I  wonder  what  makes  father  look  so  sad. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  he  is  poor.  Oh  !  I  do 
wish  I  was  older,  so  that  I  could  earn  some- 
thing for  father  and  mother !  But,  patience 
— patience,  time  flies  very  fast.  Mother  is 
sad,  too,  and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes 
the  other  day  when  she  was  talking  about 
paying  the  rent.  But  they  both  seem  glad 
when  they  look  at  us ;  that  is  because  they 
love  us.  I  wish  the  crease  would  come  out 
of  that  apron.  It  must  be  very  sweet  to  be 
able  to  make  our  parents  happy.  We  can't 
pay  them  for  all  they  have  done  for  us. 
Father  says  that  the  best  pay  is  love  and 
obedience.  Well !  my  iron  is  cold.  I  '11  put 
it  down,  and  take  another. 

"There,  I  hear  mother  singing.  What 
hymn  is  it  ?  Oh !  now  I  know  — '  Jesus, 
lover  of  my  soul,  Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly/ 
I  think  it  is  mother's  darling  hymn.     Mine 


MY    COUSIN    FLORINE.  4o 

is — 6  The  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare/  I 
am  glad  that  I  went  to  Sunday-school,  if  it 
was  only  to  learn  that  hymn.  Next  Sunday 
the  teacher  will  tell  me  something  new,  I 
know,  for  he  always  says  some  things  we 
like  to  hear,  and  that  does  us  good,  too. 
And  he  is  so  kind  to  teach  us  good. 

"  Now  my  ironing  is  all  done,  and  after  I 
have  fed  the  chicks,  I  will  learn  a  new 
hymn,  and  some  verses  for  next  Sunday." 


MY  COUSIN   FLORINE. 

Ah  !  a  sweet  little  girl  is  my  cousin  Florine, 
And  her  eyes  are  the  brightest  I  ever  have 

seen; 
And  curls  that  are  glossier,  a  brow  that's 

more  fair, 
Or  cheeks  that  are  rosier  I  'm  sure  must  be 

rare. 


46  MY    COUSIN    FLORINE. 

But,  my  dear  little  reader,  do  tell  me,  I 

pray, 
Why,  think  you,  I  love  her,  that  cousin  so 

gay? 
*T  is  not  for  her  beauty,  though  that  is  so 

rare, 
For  some  may  be  prettier,  and  many  as 

fair; 

But  because  she  is  gentle  and  loving  and 

kind — 
For  her  goodness  of  heart  and  her  beauty 

of  mind : 
Far  better  than  beauty,  and  far  better  than 

gold, 
Are  the  treasures  of  virtue  young  hearts 

should  enfold. 


THE    BUTTERFLY.  47 


THE   BUTTERFLY. 

Little  children  went  to  play, 
When  the  day  was  nearly  done ; 

And  the  fragrant  clover  field 
Redden'd  in  the  setting  sun. 

They  were  happy  children  all, 
And  they  loved  each  other  well, 

Kate  and  Willie,  Ruth  and  Jane, 
Even  tiny  Isabelle. 

How  they  danced  among  the  grass, 
How  they  pulled  the  flowers  up, 

And  made  wreaths  of  purple  clover, 
Mingled  with  the  buttercup. 

By-and-by  a  butterfly, 

Flutter' d  from  its  hiding-place, 
And  the  children  laughed  with  joy, 

At  its  beauty  and  its  grace. 


48  THE    BUTTERFLY. 

Oh  !  its  wings  were  broad  and  bright, 
Gay  with  yellow,  blue,  and  red, 

But  it  soon  grew  tired  of  flying, 
And  came  down  on  Willie's  head. 


Little  Isabelle  sprang  up, 

And  her  hand  was  reached  with  care, 
"  Sister  Katie,  shall  I  catch  it, 

While  it  rests  so  nicely  there  ?" 

"No,"  said  Kate,  with  gentle  smiles, 
"  That  would  only  give  it  pain, 

Let  it  rest  its  feet  awhile, 
Then  fly  off  to  play  again." 

"  No,"  said  Willie,  smiling  too, 

"  If  it  trusts  itself  to  me, 
I'll  not  make  my  hair  a  trap, 

To  take  away  its  liberty." 


LITTLE    MARY.  49 

Little  Isabelle  gave  up 

Her  design  with  pleasant  face. 

"  But,"  said  she,  "  I  '11  watch  it  close, 
Till  it  leaves  its  resting  place." 

So  the  children  only  watched  it, 

Till  it  choose  to  fly  away ; 
Then,  with  pleasant,  gentle  feelings, 

Off  they  went  again,  to  play. 


LITTLE   MARY. 

Little  Mary  was  good, 
The  weather  was  fair, 
She  went  with  her  mother 
To  breathe  the  fresh  air. 

The  birds  were  all  singing; 
Mary  chatted  away, 
And  she  felt  as  merry 
And  happy  as  they. 
3L— d 


50 


ONLY  JUST   INSIDE   THE   FENCE. 


ONLY  JUST  INSIDE  THE  FENCE. 

UST  inside  of 
the  fence,"  cried 
the  little  chil- 
dren. "Oh,  such 
beautiful  flow- 
ers !  and  only 
just  inside  the 
fence !" 
And  then  stealthy  glances  were  cast  up 
at  the  windows,  the  gate  pressed  softly,  the 
beautiful  flowers  were  snatched  with  a 
trembling  hand,  and  the  little  children  fled 
away  with  beating  hearts.  Were  they  now 
happier,  because  their  guilty  feet  had  wan- 
dered into  forbidden  paths  ?  Only  a  little 
way  had  they  gone,  and  lo,  they  had  fallen 
into  sin  ! 

The  freshness,  the  fragrance,  the  beauty 


ONLY  JUST   INSIDE   THE   FENCE.  51 

of  the  flowers,  were  not  sufficient  to  still  the 
remorseful  whispers  of  conscience.  It  was 
only  just  inside  the  fence  they  had  been,  yet 
what  an  ugly  mark  had  sin  set  upon  their 
fair  brows ! 

Poor  little  children  are  we  all.  Forbidden 
pleasure  smiles  and  beckons  to  us,  only  just 
inside  the  fence.     Our  longing  glances  linger 

•'  COD  D 

there ;  our  feet  stray  thitherward ;  it  is  a 
little  way,  no  one  sees  us,  and  we  put  forth 
our  hands  and  pluck  the  flowers  whose  fatal 
beauty  is  a  snare  to  the  soul. 

Only  just  inside  the  fence !  But  that 
fence  is  set  between  us  and  sin.  One  side 
of  it  we  may  walk  safely  in  the  "  King's 
Highway,"  the  other  side  leads  us  to  tempta- 
tion, to  fully,  to  crime.  Once,  when  we 
have  set  our  feet  in  the  forbidden  paths,  we 
go  again  more  boldly,  till  the  time  comes 
when  that  fence,  set  for  our  safety,  is  broken 


52  ONLY  JUST   INSIDE   THE   FENCE. 

down  and  destroyed  by  our  reckless  indul- 
gence in  evil  desires.  There  is  no  longer  a 
barrier  between  us  and  sin.  We  do  not 
pause  or  look  round  stealthily,  or  tremble  as 
we  grasp  the  coveted  pleasure ;  our  looks 
are  grown  insolent  and  defiant;  the  guilty 
blood  mantles  not  on  our  cheeks  at  the  de- 
tected fraud,  the  selfish  indulgence,  the  de- 
basing irreverence.  The  fence  is  broken 
down,  and  we  wander  unrestrained  farther 
and  farther  on  those  inviting  paths,  whose 
fatal  termination  is  the  snare,  the  pitfall, 
the  abyss  of  darkness  and  eternal  despair. 

u Such  beautiful  flowers!"  Turn  from 
them,  touch  them  not,  they  are  forbidden. 

"  Only  just  inside  the  fence  /"  Within  that 
fence  is  sin,  without  it  is  safety. 


the  child's  wish.  53 

THE  CHILD'S  WISH. 

"  If  I  could  live  till  Spring,"  she  said, 
"  When  the  first  daisies  blow, 

And  meek-eyed  flowers  soft  odors  shed, 
I'd  be  content  to  go. 

But  oh  !  it  is  so  cold  a  bed, 
The  grave  half  full  of  snow." 

She  slept — I  often  wonder  now 
To  what  sweet  land  she  stole, 

And  gather'd  love's  most  precious  vow 
From  some  celestial  goal. 

For,  oh  !  such  peace  was  on  her  brow, 
The  sunlight  of  the  soul. 

I  know  not  where  she  caught  the  light, 

That  glistened  in  her  eyes ; 
"But,  oh!"  said  she,  "'tis  always  bright — 

'T  is  Summer  in  the  skies. 

I  shall  not  feel  how  deep  and  white 

The  snow  above  me  lies." 
5 


54  the  child's  wish. 

And  now  the  light  of  early  Spring 
Casts  blossoms  on  her  breast, 

And  meadow-larks  and  thrushes  sing 
Their  carols  to  her  rest. 

The  snows  have  melted  as  the  wing 
Of  sunset  in  the  west. 

And  there  are  thistles,  blue  and  red, 
Half  bending  o'er  her  tomb; 

And  little  flowers  by  dew-drops  fed 
Just  bursting  into  bloom. 

A  quiet,  little  valley  bed, 
An  emerald  curtain'd  room. 

She  died,  amid  the  Winter  snow, 

Of  poverty  the  heir ; 
White  as  a  lamb  she  dwells,  I  know, 

Where  "  little  children"  are ; 
For  angels  sought  the  cabin  low, 

And  found  a  sister  there. 


THE   IDLE   ARE   ALWAYS  UNHAPPY.         55 

THE  IDLE  ARE  ALWAYS  UNHAPPY. 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !"  sighed  little  Robert  Blake, 
as  he  leaned  his  head  against  the  open  win- 
dow and  looked  out,  "  I  don't  think  vacation 
is  very  good  fun  after  all;  I  am  tired  of 
playing  and  tired  of  reading,  and  I  can't 
think  of  anything  else  to  do." 

"  What  if  you  should  try  working  a 
little  ?"  said  his  sister  Mary,  who  sat  at  the 
other  window,  busily  sewing.  "  I  dare  say 
the  men  would  be  glad  to  have  you  help 
them  shake  up  the  new  hay,  and — 

"Oh!  I  ain't  going  to  work  in  vacation, 
I'm  sure.  Father  told  me  if  I  didn't  want 
to,  I  needn't  do  a  single  thing  except  amuse 
myself;  and  I  don't  mean  to." 

"  Yes ;  but  at  the  very  same  time  he  told 
you  that  you  would  find  yourself  very  much 
mistaken,  if  you  thought  you  could  be  happy 


56         THE  IDLE  ARE   ALWAYS   UNHAPPY. 

to  be  entirely  idle,  and  he  said  he  should  be 
very  much  surprised  if  you  did  not  come 
and  ask  for  something  to  do,  before  vacation 
was  over." 

"Well,  I  don't  care;  I  know  that  it  is 
pleasanter  to  play  than  it  is  to  work,  what- 
ever you  may  say  to  the  contrary." 

"  So  it  is,  for  a  while ;  but  you  see  your- 
self how  soon  you  are  tired  of  it." 

"  Well,  I  shall  get  rested  pretty  soon." 

"  Yes,  a  little  hay-making  would  rest  you 
nicely." 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't  work  in  vacation,  so 
you  needn't  say  any  more  about  it;"  and 
seizing  his  straw  hat,  Robert  ran  out  of  the 
house.  First  he  took  his  ball  and  threw  it 
against  the  wall  a  few  times ;  but  pretty  soon 
the  ball  went  over  the  shed,  and  Robert  was 
"  too  tired,"  as  he  said  to  himself,  to  go  and 
get  it.    So  he  sat  down  in  the  swing ;  but  he 


THE   IDLE   ARE   ALWAYS   UNHAPPY.         57 

bad  no  one  to  swing  him,  and  it  was  too 
much  work  to  swing  himself,  so  he  took  his 
kite,  and  as  there  was  a  fine  wind,  it  soon 
rose  to  the  full  length  of  the  string.  But 
Kobert  found  it  made  his  arms  ache  to  hold 
on  to  the  string,  so  he  wound  it  up,  and  sat 
down  on  the  door-step  to  consider  what  be 
should  do  next. 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  day,  and  as 
Kobert  looked  around  he  saw  the  little  brook 
before  his  father's  house,  glittering  in  the 
sun,  and  looking  so  merry  and  pleasant,  that 
he  jumped  up  and  ran  towards  it,  to  see  if 
he  could  not  get  something  there  with  which 
to  amuse  himself.  He  sat  down  for  a  little 
while  under  the  great  willow  on  the  bank 
of  the  stream,  and  watched  the  tiny  waves 
so  busily  dancing  along;  and  he  wondered 
where  they  all  went  to,  and  why  they  were 
always  in  such  a  hurry.     But  the  wavelets 


58         THE   IDLE   ARE   ALWAYS  UNHAPPY. 

could  not  speak  to  tell  him,  and  so,  after 
looking  at  the  swift  current  a  little  longer, 
Robert  picked  up  some  slender  twigs,  and 
standing  on  the  old  bridge,  amused  him- 
self by  throwing  them  into  the  brook,  and 
seeing  how  quickly  they  would  come  through 
on  the  other  side.  But  he  was  soon  tired 
of  this  sport,  and  leaning  with  both  arms 
upon  the  rail,  and  crossing  his  feet,  he  leaned 
listlessly  over  and  gazed  at  the  shining  brook. 

He  was  aroused  from  his  dream  by  the 
sound  of  merry  voices  coming  towards  him; 
and  looking  up  he  saw  Susan  Brown,  the 
daughter  of  a  neighbor,  coming  towards  the 
brook,  with  a  great  pitcher  upon  her  head, 
while  her  little  sister  Lizzy  ran  after  her, 
chattering  and  laughing  as  if  she  felt  very 
happy. 

"  Why,  what  a  great  pitcher,  Susy !"  said 
Robert,  "  is  it  not  very  heavy  ?" 


THE  IDLE  ARE  ALWAYS  UNHAPPY.        59 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  mind  it  when  the  weather 
is  pleasant."  So  saying,  she  dipped  the 
pitcher  into  the  brook,  and  when  it  was 
filled,  she  again  raised  it  towards  her  head ; 
but  Robert  said — 

"  You  had  much  better  let  me  carry  it." 

"  Well,  if  you  like,"  said  Susy,  laughing. 

"And  I  will  bring  another  one  up  for  you 
afterward,  if  you  wish,"  said  Robert. 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  should  like  it  very  much  ; 
for  I  have  got  to  fill  the  barrel  for  mother, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  pail,  and  you  can  help 
me,  if  you  like." 

"Yes,  I  should  admire  it,"  said  Robert 
with  sudden  animation ;  and  for  half  an 
hour  he  worked  steadily,  carrying  the  pails 
and  emptying  them  into  the  barrel.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  he  felt  quite  warm  and 
tired;  but  the  barrel  was  full;  and  both 
Susey  and   her  mother  thanked  him  very 


60  EVENING    HYMN. 

much ;  and  Mrs.  Brown  gave  him  an  apple 
turn-over,  which  she  had  just  baked,  and 
which  tasted  nicer  to  Kobert  than  anything 
he  had  eaten  since  vacation  commenced. 
After  eating  this,  he  went  home,  and  that 
same  afternoon  he  told  his  father  that  he 
meant  to  help  him  part  of  every  day,  until 
school  commenced  again;  u  For,"  said  he,  "I 
find  there  is  no  wrork  so  hard  as  trying  to 
amuse  myself." 


EVENING  HYMN. 

Jesus,  tender  Shepherd,  hear  me ; 

Bless  thy  little  lambs  to-night : 
Through  the  darkness  be  thou  near  me, 

Watch  my  sleep  till  morning  light. 


VOICES.  61 

VOICES. 

"And  after  the  fire  a  still  small  voice." 

There  is  a  voice  of  singing  birds 

So  merry  and  so  glad ; 
There  is  a  voice  of  little  streams 

That  sounds  both  sweet  and  sad. 

There  is  a  loud  and  fearful  voice 

Of  thunder  in  the  sky ; 
There  is  a  voice  among  the  leaves, 

Of  breezes  passing  by. 

There  is  a  mother's  voice  of  love, 

To  hush  her  little  child ; 
There  is  a  father's  voice  of  praise, 

So  earnest  and  so  mild. 

We  love  to  hear  these  voices  speak, 

We  listen  to  their  sound ; 
We  should  not  like  so  well  to  have 

A  silence  all  around. 


62  voices. 

But  there  is  yet  another  voice, 

That  speaks  in  gentle  tone, 
I  think  that  we  can  hear  it  best, 

When  we  are  quite  alone 

It  is  a  still,  small,  holy  voice, 

The  voice  of  God  most  high, 
That  whispers  always  in  our  heart, 

And  says  that  He  is  by. 

The  voice  will  blame  us  when  we  're  wrong, 
And  praise  us  when  we're  right: 

We  hear  it  in  the  light  of  day, 
And  in  the  quiet  night. 

And  even  they  whose  ears  are  deaf 

To  every  other  sound, 
When  they  have  listened,  in  their  hearts 

The  little  voice  have  found. 


MORNING    PRAYER.  63 

And  they  have  felt  that  God  is  good, 
And  thanked  him  for  his  voice, 

That  taught  them  what  was  right  and  true, 
And  made  their  hearts  rejoice. 


MORNING  PRAYER. 

I  thank  thee,  Lord,  for  quiet  rest, 

And  for  thy  care  of  me ; 
0  let  me  through  this  day  be  blest, 

And  kept  from  harm  by  thee. 

Help  me  to  please  my  parents  dear 

And  do  whate'er  they  tell; 
Bless  all  my  friends,  both  far  and  near, 

And  keep  them  safe  and  well. 


MY   MOTHER'S  GRAVE 


A  low,  green-covered  mound, 

With  here  and  there  a  flower, 
Beneath  the  shade  is  found 
Anear  the  old  church  tower, 
And  o'er  the  spot  a  willow  weeps 
In  silence,  where  my  mother  sleeps. 

(64) 


my  mother's  grave.  65 

I  was  not  very  old 

When  she  was  called  away, 
To  sleep  so  dark  and  cold 
Within  that  house  of  clay : 
I  was  a  little  laughing  girl, 
With  pale  blue  eye  and  golden  curl. 

I  heard  her  feebly  sigh, 

And  say  she  could  not  live — 
She  prayed  that  God  on  high 
To  me  would  blessings  give : 
And  that  same  night,  they  say  at  eleven, 
Her  spirit  winged  its  flight  to  heaven. 

And  here  she  long  has  slept — 

It  is  a  sacred  spot, 
Where  I  have  often  wept, 

And  blooming  flowers  brought :  , 

They  make  me  think  how  sweet  her  name, 
How  pure  her  life,  how  dear  her  claim, 
x.— e  6 


66      THE   SUNBEAM,   DEW-DROP,    AND   ROSE. 

THE  SUNBEAM,  DEW-DROP,  AND 
ROSE. 

A  dew-drop  hung  trembling  like  a  timid 
thing  upon  the  soft  velvet  leaf  of  a  rose 
It  sparkled  and  flashed  each  time  the  breeze 
wooed  the  rose-buds,  with  mj^riads  of  bril- 
liant hues,  till  it  seemed  as  if  a  rainbow  had 
been  imprisoned  within  its  crystal  bosom, 
and  was  struggling  to  escape.  Now  the  rose 
beheld  its  beauty,  and  thought  she  had  never 
seen  so  lovely  a  creature ;  so  she  spoke  to 
it  gently,  in  a  voice  that  seemed  like  the 
essence  of  a  summer  wind. 

"  Be  faithful,  dew-drop,"  said  the  rose,  "  I 
love  you.  You  are  like  the  stars  that  I  see 
looking  down  from  heaven  on  me  when  the 
wind  wakens  me  at  night;  but  I  love  you 
more  than  I  do  them ;  you  are  near  me,  and 
they  are  far  away.     Come  dwell  with  me 


THE   SUNBEAM,    DEW-DROP,    AND   ROSE.       67 

ever,  sweet  gem  of  the  morning,  and  to 
thee  I  will  unlock  all  the  fragrance  of  my 
bosom. 

The  rose,  as  she  spoke,  unfolded  her  deli- 
cate leaves,  until  the  dew-drop  beheld  the 
crimson  depths  of  her  heart  glowing  with 
love  and  passion. 

Just  then  a  sly  sunbeam  peeped  out  from 
behind  an  embroidered  cloud,  and  saw  the 
dew-drop  which  was  quivering  with  emotion 
at  the  declaration  of  the  rose. 

"  Heed  not  the  foolish  flower,  sweet  dew- 
drop,"  cried  the  sunbeam,  "  she  would  never 
love  you  as  I  can.  Be  mine,  and  I  will  bear 
thee  up  among  the  highest  stars  of  heaven, 
and  when  I  look  at  thee,  thou  shalt  outshine 
them  all." 

The  dew-drop  was  bewildered,  and  knew 
not  what  to  say.  It  would  gladly  have 
reigned  in  the  golden  heavens,  and  be  the 


68      THE   SUNBEAM,   DEW-DROP,    AND   ROSE. 

queen  of  the  stars,  but  it  feared  the  fierce 
ardor  of  the  sunbeam ;  and  then  the  rose 
kept  whispering  such  sweet  things  to  it  with 
its  mossy  lips,  that  it  could  not  help  loving 
its  gentle  voice.  So  it  thought  a  little,  and 
then  replied  to  the  sunbeam  thus : 

"Oh,  golden  sunbeam,  who  gaze  at  me 
with  thine  eyes  of  splendor,  thou  art  far  too 
great  for  me  to  love  thee.  What  would  I,  a 
poor,  timid  dew-drop,  do,  wedded  to  such 
magnificence  as  thine?  At  thy  first  em- 
brace I  should  melt  away  and  vanish  like 
the  morning  mist  upon  the  hills.  But  the 
sweet  rose  I  love  dearly.  Her  kisses  are 
laden  with  perfume,  and  from  her  bosom 
steals  forth  all  the  fragrance  of  love.  Oh 
fond  and  beautiful  flower,  in  thy  rosy  chalice 
I  will  dwell  forever  and  be  happy." 

Thus   saying,  the   dew-drop   slid    gently 


THE   SUNBEAM,   DEW-DROP,    AND   ROSE.      69 

down  into  the  glowing  bosom  of  the  rose, 
and  nestled  among  her  velvet  leaves. 

Sensible  dew-drop !  Well  did'st  thou 
know  that  it  is  not  the  love  that  dazzles 
most  which  brings  the  greatest  peace.  The 
love  of  the  sunbeam  would  have  been  fatal 
to  thee,  while  that  of  the  rose  gave  thee 
happiness  and  contentment.  Love,  like  the 
sky-lark,  though  sometimes  soaring  to  heaven, 
still  builds  its  nest  upon  earth. 


70  WHEN   i'm   a  man 


WHEN  I'M  A  MAN. 

"  I  'm  ten  years  old,"  said  Harry  Lee, 

"  And  see  !  I  'm  just  an  inch  more  tall 
Than  last  year  when  they  measured  me 

Against  the  wall. 
I  have  a  birthday-gift — a  gun  ; 

It 's  only  wood — but  I  've  a  plan 
To  shoulder  thus  a  real  one 
When  I  'm  a  man. 

"  Come,  be  my  comrade,  brother  Ben  J" 

"  Oh  no !  excuse  me,  Captain  Lee ; 
Before  the  sword  I  choose  the  pen. 

I  mean  to  be 
An  author  famous  far  and  wide ; 

My  books  shall  flourish  in  the  van 

Of  fame ;  you  '11  hear  of  me  with  pride 

When  I  'm  a  man." 


WHEN   i'm   a   man  71 

"  And  what  will  you  do,  brother  Joe  ?" 

"  No  fighter  I,  nor  writer,  sure ; 
Guns  hurt,  and  books  are  dull;  I'll  go 

Where  winds  are  pure, 
And  woods  are  green,  and  waters  gay, 

And  creatures,  free  as  ever  ran 
On  some  lone  Crusoe-island,  play, 
When  I  'm  a  man." 

Says  Willy :  "  Father's  calling,  e  Boys, 

Here 's  something  you  can  do  for  me.' " 
Then  what  a  grumbling !  what  a  noise ! 

Says  Willy  Lee, 
"  I  'm  coming,  father,  I  '11  begin 

To  make  folks  happy  while  I  can, 
And  do  good,  any  place  I  'm  in, 
When  I  'm  a  man." 


72  LITTLE    THINGS. 

LITTLE  THINGS. 

Little  drops  of  water, 
Little  grains  of  sand, 

Make  the  mighty  ocean, 
And  the  beauteous  land. 

And  the  little  moments, 
Humble  though  they  be, 

Make  the  mighty  ages 
Of  eternity. 

So  our  little  errors 
Lead  the  soul  away 

From  the  paths  of  virtue, 
Oft  in  sin  to  stray. 

Little  deeds  of  kindness, 
Little  words  of  love, 

Make  our  earth  an  Eden, 
Like  the  Heaven  above. 


MY    YOUNGER    SISTER.  73 

MY  YOUNGER  SISTER. 

When  I  was  a  little  girl,  my  mother,  one 
pleasant  May-day,  permitted  my  little  sister 
Alice  and  myself  to  visit  a  cousin,  who  lived 
nearly  a  mile  distant.  We  were  in  high 
glee,  and  were  very  soon  prepared  to  start. 
I  was  in  such  haste  to  see  cousin  Harriet, 
that  I  walked  as  fast  as  possible,  and  Alice 
was  obliged  to  run  to  keep  pace  with  me. 
Still  we  proceeded  very  well  until  we  entered 
a  piece  of  woods,  where  the  path  was  very 
uneven.  But,  inconsiderate  as  I  was,  I 
hurried  her  along,  and,  becoming  impatient, 
would  every  few  moments  give  her  a  jerk, 
and  tell  her,  "  Come  along  faster ;  I  '11  not 
stay  out  all  the  afternoon  for  you.  I'll 
leave  you  in  the  woods,  and  the  bears  will 
get  you."  Though  I  knew  very  well  there 
were  no  bears  there,  and  did  not  think  of 


74  MY    YOUNGER    SISTER. 

leaving  her,  yet  I  unkindly  wished  to  excite 
her  fears,  and  thereby  make  her  come  more 
rapidly.  Sometimes  I  would  even  run  on 
before,  until  I  was  lost  to  her  view;  and 
when,  by  a  fresh  exertion  of  her  almost  ex- 
hausted strength,  she  would  overtake  me,  I 
would  say,  "  You  had  better  hurry ;"  and,  at 
any  noise,  I  would  tell  her  to  listen,  and  see 
if  the  bears  were  not  coming.  When  we 
reached  our  uncle's,  Alice  seemed  much  ex- 
hausted, and  did  not  join  in  play  with  her 
usual  vivacity ;  yet  I  thought  but  little  of 
it  at  the  time.  When  evening  came,  we 
rode  home  with  our  uncle,  who  was  going 
to  our  house  on  business.  When  we  alighted 
from  the  carriage,  we  ran  in,  and  I  began  to 
tell  mother  what  fine  times  we  had  had ; 
but  Alice  lay  down  on  the  sofa,  and  soon 
fell  asleep.  When  mother  undressed  and 
put  her  in  bed,  she  noticed  that  she  was 


MY    YOUNGER    SISTER.  75 

slightly  feverish,  and  remarked,  "  I  think 
Alice  has  played  too  hard."  "I  guess  not, 
mamma,"  I  said ;  "  I  believe  she  did  not 
play  quite  as  hard  as  usual,  this  afternoon  ;" 
and  here  the  conversation  ended.  About 
midnight,  I  was  awakened  by  Alice's  shrieks 
of  u  Oh  !  Marian,  Marian,  do  not  leave  me ; 
the  bears,  the  bears  !"  I  started  up  in  alarm, 
saying,  "  Why,  Alice,  are  you  dreaming  ? 
We  are  not  in  the  woods.  There  are  no 
bears  here.  We  are  in  our  own  little  bed  at 
home."  With  kisses  and  caresses,  I  gradu- 
ally soothed  her;  but  scarcely  had  I  fallen 
into  a  doze,  before  I  was  again  aroused  by 
Her  shrieks,  which  soon  brought  mother  to 
the  bed-side.  She  immediately  discovered 
that  Alice  was  delirious,  and  suffering  with 
a  high  fever.  A  physician  was  instantly 
summoned,  who  pronounced  her  disease  a 
violent  attack  of  brain  fever.  I  related  the 
events  of  the  preceding  day  to  mother,  on 


76  MY    YOUNGER    SISTER. 

the  first  opportunity,  and  prayed  God  to 
forgive  me,  and  to  bless  the  means  used  for 
my  little  sister's  recovery.  Alice  lingered 
many  weeks  without  any  material  change, 
and  few  were  admitted  to  her  bed-side. 

One  morning,  as  I  came  down  to  break> 
fast,  my  mother  said  to  me,  "Alice  is  much 
better,  and  has  just  been  inquiring  for  you. 
After  breakfast  you  may  go  and  sit  by  her." 

Oh  !  how  much  joy  did  those  words  convey 
to  my  heart !  and  as  I  sat  by  her,  and  had 
her  full  assurance  of  forgiveness,  how  very 
happy  I  felt !  Every  day  I  gathered  beau- 
tiful flowers,  such  as  Alice  loved,  and  placed 
them  in  a  little  vase,  where  she  could  look 
at  them  ;  and  when,  at  last,  she  was  able  to 
walk  out,  I  endeavored,  by  increased  tender- 
ness, to  make  up  for  that  one  act  of  unkind- 
ness  which  cost  her  so  much  suffering.  Her 
sicknesss  left  her  in  a  decline,  and  in  a  few 
months  she  died. 


COUSIN    LOU.  77 


COUSIN  LOU. 

Little  roguish  Cousin  Lou, 
With  her  dancing  eyes  of  blue ; — 
While  the  long  and  silken  lashes, 
Can't  conceal  their  mirthful  flashes. 
Careless  waving,  golden  tresses, 
Which  each  passing  breeze  caresses ; 
Dimpled  cheeks — and  sunny  smiles, 
Silvery  laugh —  and  playful  wiles, 
All  these  charms  your  love  will  woe, 
For  my  witching  Cousin  Lou. 

These  are  sure  enough  to  please, 
But  my  Lou  has  more  than  these; — 
From  her  eyes  of  heavenly  blue, 
Beams  a  spirit  kind  and  true ; 
Every  warm  and  gen'rous  feeling, 
O'er  her  childish  heart  is  stealing, — 


78  COUSIN    LOU. 

And  her  soul  is  high  and  truthful, 
Though  her  form  is  slight  and  youthful, 
Is  it  very  strange — think  you, 
That  I  love  my  darling  Lou  ? 

Little  maiden,  would  you  be, 
Loved  as  tenderly  as  she  ? — 
Never  shrink  the  truth  from  telling, 
Let  no  angry  passions  swelling, 
Cloud  your  brow  of  smiling  beauty ; 
Learn  to  yield  to  love  and  duty ; 
Wear  a  smile  for  all  who  meet  you, — 
Kind  words  as  your  playmates  greet  you — 
Learn  to  be  as  good  and  true, 
If  you  would  be  loved  like  Lou ! 


ADVICE    IN    RHYMES. 


79 


ADVICE   IN   RHYMES. 

Y  little  girl,  be  al- 
ways kind, 
And  cultivate  a  wil- 
ling mind ; 
Be  ready,  by  a  wore1 

or  smile, 
The  sad  or  weary  to 
beguile ; 
And  by  your  acts  of  love,  to  give 
Pleasure  to  all  with  whom  you  live ; 
Be  kind,  then  you  will  be  polite, 
Your  manner  simple,  grateful,  right. 

My  little  girl,  be  soft  and  mild ; 
Oh,  be  a  gentle,  docile  child ! 
Raise  not  your  voice  to  friend  or  foe, 
But  let  your  tones  be  sweet  and  low. 


80  ADVICE    IN    RHYMES. 

Be  truthful,  open,  and  sincere, 
Be  independent  without  fear; 
And  if  you  know  that  you  are  right, 
Shrink  not  from  ridicule  or  slight. 

Be  simple  in  your  taste  for  dress, 
But  clothe  your  soul  in  loveliness. 
Be  meek ;  oh,  it  is  sweet  to  be 
Apparelled  in  humility. 
The  faults  of  others  do  not  seek, 
And  of  them  do  not  speak ; 
But  daily  search  for  all  your  own, 
And  strive  to  banish  every  one. 


I   MEAN    TO   BE   GOOD   TO-DAY.  81 


I  MEAN  TO  BE  GOOD  TO-DAY. 

Little  Emma  said,  one  day,  "  Now,  mo 
ther,  I  mean  to  try  and  be  a  good  girl  all 
day,  and  see  if  the  smiles  will  not  come 
creeping,  creeping,  all  over  my  face,"  and' 
she  put  up  her  little  fingers  and  traced 
around  her  cherry  mouth  and  little  rosy 
cheeks ;  "  they  will  come  creeping,  creeping, 
just  so,  mother,  and  I  shall  have  a  little 
smiling  face  all  over." 

•  Oh,  I  thought,  if  all  little  children  would 
make  such  a  resolution  as  that,  every  morn- 
ing, what  a  set  of  happy,  smiling  faces  we 
should  see ! 

Did  you  never  see  a  little  child  who  looked 
very  cross  in  the  morning,  who  would  cry 
when  her  mother  washed  her,  stick  out  her 
little  feet  when  her  mother  put  on  her  shoes 

X.  — F 


82  I  MEAN   TO   BE  GOOD   TO-DAY. 

and  stockings,  and  shake  her  little  shoulders 
when  she  put  on  her  dress,  and  be  sulky  for 
full  an  hour  ?  Would  the  "  smiles  come 
creeping,  creeping,"  over  that  cross  child's 
face  ?  No ;  I  fear  they  would  wait  a  long 
time  before  they  came  there. 

Emma  is  sometimes  cross  in  the  morning, 
and  then  she  seems  to  think  about  it,  and 
says,  "  I  mean  to  be  a  good  little  girl,  mo- 
ther; you  shall  have  no  naughty  Emma  to- 
day." And  then  her  mother  looks  at  her, 
and  a  little  smile  is  creeping,  creeping  over 
Emma's  face,  and  she  is  all  one  smile. 

Emma  is  a  very  little  girl;  hardly  three 
years  old ;  but  I  never  knew  a  little  girl 
who  kept  trying  to  be  good  all  the  time  as 
she  does.  Every  night  she  says,  "Our 
Father,  please  make  Emma  a  good  little 
girl.     Amen." 

Children,  when  you  feel  cross,  and  do  not 


I  MEAN   TO   BE  GOOD   TO-DAY.  83 

want  to  be  washed  and  dressed,  and  have 
your  hair  brushed,  or  when  you  speak  in  a 
sulky  voice,  and  pout  and  cry,  think  of  little 
Emma,  and  say,  "  Now  I  mean  to  be  a  good 
child  to-day,  and  then  smiles  will  come 
creeping,  creeping." 

Your  mother  loves  to  see  the  smiles. 
When  she  sees  the  pouting  lips,  and  the 
tears  in  the  eyes,  she  grieves,  and  wonders 
how  soon  they  will  be  changed  for  a  face 
where  the  smiles  will  love  to  come. 

So  put  away  your  sour  looks,  little  chil- 
dren, and  see,  see  the  smiles  are  coming 
creeping,  creeping  out  of  the  corners  of  your 
mouth,  over  the  little  rosy  cheek,  lighting 
up  the  blue  eyes,  and  the  whole  face  looks 
like  a  pleasant  landscape,  when  the  sun 
shines  upon  it. 

But  the  frowning  face  is  like  a  landscape 


84  GOOD   ADVICE   FOR   LITTLE   ONES. 

when  a  dark  cloud  comes  over  the  bright 
sky,  and  all  is  black  and  dismal. 

Our  Father  in  heaven  loves  to  see  the 
cheerful  face  of  a  little  child,  for  it  tells  of 
a  cheerful  heart. 

So  try  every  day,  little  girls  and  little 
boys,  try  if  you  cannot  be  good  children 
every  day,  and  then  you  will  see  the  smiles 
come  creeping,  creeping. 


GOOD  ADVICE  FOR  LITTLE  ONES. 

My  dear  little  child, 
Be  gentle  and  mild ; 
For  what  can  you  get 
By  passion  and  pet, 
But  sorrow  and  shame, 
A  very  bad  name, 
The  loss  of  your  peace, 
And  guilt  in  its  place  ? 


a  child's  thoughts.  85 

A  CHILD'S   THOUGHTS. 

Oh  !  I  long  to  lie,  dear  mother, 
On  the  cool  and  fragrant  grass, 

With  naught  but  the  sky  above  my  head, 
And  the  shadowing  clouds  that  pass. 

And  I  want  the  bright,  bright  sunshine, 

All  round  upon  my  bed, 
I  will  close  my  eyes,  and  God  will  think 

Your  little  boy  is  dead ! 

Then  Christ  will  send  an  angel 

To  take  him  up  to  him ; 
He  will  bear  me  slow  and  steadily, 

Far  through  the  ether  dim. 

He  will  gently,  gently  lay  me 

Close  to  the  Saviour's  side, 
And  when  I  'm  sure  that  we  're  in  heaven, 

My  eyes  I  '11  open  wide. 


86  a  child's  thoughts. 

And  1 11  look  among  the  angels 
That  stand  about  the  throne, 

'Till  I  find  my  sister  Mary, 
For  I  know  she  must  be  one. 


And  when  I  find  her,  mother, 

We  will  go  away  alone, 
And  I  will  tell  her  how  we  've  mourned 

All  the  while  she  has  been  gone ! 

Oh  !  I  shall  be  delighted, 

To  hear  her  speak  again — 
Though  I  know  she  '11  ne'er  return  to  us — 

To  ask  her  would  be  vain ! 

So  I  '11  put  my  arms  around  her, 

And  look  into  her  eyes, 
And  remember  all  I  said  to  her, 

And  all  her  sweet  replies. 


WILD    FLOWERS.  87 

And  then  I'll  ask  the  angel 

To  take  me  back  to  you — 
He  '11  bear  me  slow  and  steadily, 

Down  through  the  ether  blue. 

And  you  '11  only  think,  dear  mother, 

I  have  been  out  at  play, 
And  have  gone  to  sleep,  beneath  a  tree, 

This  sultry  summer  day. 

WILD   FLOWERS. 

Go,  Florence,  get  me  wild  flowers, 

My  little  merry  Florence,  do. 
Run  all  about — see  here  and  there, 
In  field  and  wood,  and  everywhere, 

They  spring  up  white  and  blue. 

White  and  blue,  and  red  and  yellow, 

Round  about  our  pathway  shine; 
Everywhere  beneath  our  feet 
Spring  up  wild-flowers  fresh  and  sweet, 
To  gladden  hearts  Uke  thine. 


\8  WILD    FLOWERS. 

Look  round,  the  sunshine  and  the  air, 

The  water-brooks  that  softly  glide, 
The  mother-earth  that  keeps  and  warms, 
Soft  falling  dews,  careering  storms 
Have  nourishment  supplied. 

Oh  !  gracious  handiwork  of  God  ! 

And  thus  is  clothed  the  barren  wild, 
With  flowers  so  odorous  and  so  fair, 
That  spring  so  numerous  everywhere 

To  please  a  little  child. 
Go,  Florence,  get  me  wild  flowers ; 

Go  gather  of  the  flowers  thy  fill, — 
The  blue-bell  and  the  orchis  red, 
The  boughs  of  wilding  overhead, 

The  broom  from  off  the  hill. 

For,  looking  on  a  little  flower, 

A  blessed  truth  shall  reach  thy  heart, 
A  glimpse  of  that  divinest  plan — 
That  bond  of  love  'twixt  man  and  man — 
In  which  e'en  thou  hast  part. 

Mary  Howitt, 


A    STORY.  89 


A  STOKY. 

I  will  tell  you  a  story  about  a  little  boy. 
It  is  a  pretty  story.  I  have  read  it  in  the 
Bible.  Once  there  was  a  basket  found  in 
the  rushes  by  the  side  of  a  river.  It  was 
made  tight,  so  that  the  water  could  not  get 
into  it.  There  were  a  number  of  women 
near,  when  the  basket  was  found.  One  of 
them  was  a  princess,  and  her  father  was  the 
king  of  that  country.  When  they  looked 
into  the  basket,  they  saw  there  a  little  child. 
Strange,  that  any  mother  should  leave  her 
babe  in  such  a  place.  I  will  tell  you  the 
reason  she  left  him  there.  She  was  a  He- 
brew woman.  The  king  of  the  country 
where  the  child  was  found  was  wicked,  and 
hated  all  the  Hebrew  people.  He  hated 
them  so  much,  that  he  gave  orders  to  have 
8 


90  A    STORY. 

all  their  children  killed  as  soon  as  they 
were  born.  The  mother  of  this  babe  put 
him  in  this  basket,  or  ark,  to  save  his  life. 
She  thought,  I  suppose,  that  somebody 
would  come  and  have  pity  on  him.  And 
there  was  a  friend  of  hers  very  near,  to  see 
what  would  become  of  the  child.  Well,  the 
king's  daughter  heard  the  babe  cry,  and  she 
did  pity  him.  The  woman  who  was  watch- 
ing him,  asked  if  she  should  not  go  and  call 
a  nurse  for  him.  The  princess  said  yes; 
and  the  woman  went  and  called  his  mother. 
So  the  child  was  saved,  and  lived  many 
years,  and  the  Lord  made  him  a  very  great 
and  useful  man.  The  name  of  this  child 
was  Moses. 


A    GOOD-NIGHT    SONG. 


91 


A  GOOD-NIGHT  SONG. 

0   bed,   to    bed,   my 
curly  head, 
To  bed,  and  sleep 
so  sweetly ; 
Merry  and  bright, with 
the  morning  light, 
Be  up,  and  dressed 
so  neatly. 


Then  for  a  walk,  and  a  pleasant  talk 
About  the  birds  and  flowers; 

And  all  the  day,  in  work  and  play, 
We  '11  pass  the  happy  hours. 

And  then  to  bed,  to  rest  the  head, 
And  sleep  until  the  morrow : 

May  every  day  thus  glide  away, 
Without  a  shade  of  sorrow. 


92  THE    PRESENCE    OF    GOD. 

THE   PRESENCE  OF  GOD. 

Come  to  me,  little  child !  I  am  going  to 
teach  you  a  sweet  lesson  out  of  God's  pre- 
cious book.  This  is  the  Bible,  you  know — 
God's  own  book.  He  gives  it  to  us,  and  he 
bids  us  teach  our  children  out  of  it.  So  I  am 
going  to  teach  you  one  sweet  little  verse : 

"Thou,  God,  seest  me." 

Yes,  God  sees  you,  standing  or  sitting 
there.  And  he  likes  to  see  you  learning  a 
verse  out  of  his  own  book,  for  he  loves  little 
children.     He  is  full  of  love. 

God  is  here  now.  He  is  in  this  very 
room.  You  can't  see  him  ;  but  he  sees  you. 
Wherever  you  are,  he  watches  you ;  and  he 
takes  care  of  you  at  night  when  it  is  dark, 
and  when  nobody  can  see  you  but  God.  He 
sees  you,  too,  when  you  awake  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  open  your  eyes,  and  jump  out  of 
your  little  bed.  For  God  is  always  beside  you. 


oh,  hark!  the  baby  cries.  93 


OH,  HAEK!  THE  BABY  CRIES. 

Oh,  hark  !  Oh,  hark !  the  baby  cries, 
As  on  his  little  bed  he  lies : 
He  looks  around,  and  mother's  gone, 
And  he  don't  like  to  be  alone. 

But  mother  is  coming, 

Oh  see  how  she's  running, 
To  learn  what  the  matter  can  be ; 

But  she  soon  will  find  out 

What  it  all  is  about ; 
And  how  very  sorry  is  she. 

My  little  babe  must  never  fret, 
And  put  himself  in  such  a  pet ; 
But  play  with  his  fingers  and  his  toes, 
And  lie  very  still  when  mother  goes. 

Now  sister  is  coming, 

I  hear  her  a  running 


94  oh,  hark!  the  baby  cries. 

To  see  what  the  matter  can  be ; 

She  has  heard  the  loud  cries, 

And  away  now  she  flies, 
For  a  dear  loving  sister  is  she. 

Our  little  boy  must  never  fret, 
And  put  himself  in  such  a  pet, 
But  give  us  kisses,  one,  two,  three : 
Here,  come !  I  '11  take  you  on  my  knee. 

Now  see  your  dear  mother, 

And  sister  and  brother, 
Who  always  are  loving  and  true; 

And  when  they  're  away, 

Lie  still,  laugh  and  play, 
They  '11  soon  come  again  back  to  you. 


THE    FARMER    AND    HIS    SON.      95 

THE  FARMER  AND  HIS  SON; 

A    FABLE. 

Lying  at  the  point  of  death,  a  farmer, 
being  desirous  that  his  son  should  pursue 
the  same  occupation  in  which  he  had  him- 
self been  engaged  all  his  life,  made  use  of 
this  expedient  to  induce  him  to  enter  upon 
it  with  industry  and  perseverence.  While 
the  boy  knelt  at  his  father's  bedside,  with 
his  other  children,  the  latter  addressed  him 
thus: — "All  the  patrimony,  my  son,  which 
I  have  to  leave  you,  is  my  farm  and  vine- 
yard, of  which  I  make  you  sole  heir.  But 
I  charge  you  not  to  let  it  out  of  your  own 
hands,  for  if  I  have  any  treasure  beside,  it 
is  buried  somewhere  in  the  ground,  within 
a  foot  of  the  surface."  This  made  the  son 
conclude  that  he  talked  of  money  which  he 


96  ANNIE. 

Lad  hidden  there;  so,  after  his  father's 
death,  with  unwearied  diligence  and  appli- 
cation, he  carefully  dug  up  every  inch  both 
of  the  farm  and  the  vineyard ;  from  which 
it  came  to  pass,  that  though  he  found  not 
the  treasure  which  he  expected,  the  ground, 
by  being  so  well  stirred  and  loosened,  pro- 
duced so  plentiful  a  crop  of  all  that  was 
sown  in  it,  as  proved  a  real  and  no  inconsi- 
derable treasure.  We  see  from  this  fable, 
little  boys  and  girls,  that  industry  is  itself  a 
treasure. 


ANNIE. 

I've  a  sweet  little  pet ! — she  is  up  with  the 

lark, 
And  at  eve  she's  asleep  when  the  valleys 

are  dark, 


ANNIE.  97 

And  she  chatters  and  dances  the  blessed  day 

long, 
Now  laughing  in  gladness  —  now  singing  a 

song. 
She  never  is  silent ! — the  whole  summer  day 
She  is  off  on  the  green  with  the  blossoms  a1 

play; 
Now  seeking  a  buttercup — plucking  a  rose, 
Or  laughing  aloud  at  the  thistle  she  blows. 

She  never  is  still ! — now  at  some  merry  elf, 
You  '11  smile  as  you  watch  her,  in  spite  of 

yourself; 
You  may  chide  her  in  vain,  for  those  eyes, 

full  of  fun, 
Are  smiling  in  mirth  at  the  mischief  she 's 

done; 
And  whatever  you  do  —  that  same  thing, 

without  doubt, 
Must  the  mischievous  Annie  be  busied  about; 

X.  — G 


98  ANNIE. 

She's  as  brown  as  a  nut,  but  a  beauty  to 

me, 
And   there's  nothing  her  keen  little  eyes 

cannot  see. 

She  dances  and  sings,  and  has  many  sweet 

airs, 
And  to  infant  accomplishments,  adding  her 

prayers. 
I  have  told  everything  that  the  darling  can 

do, 
For  't  was  only  last  summer  her  years  num- 

ber'd  two. 
She 's  the  picture  of  health — and  a  southern- 
born  thing, 
Just  as  ready  to  weep  as  she 's  ready  to  sing, 
And  I  fain  would  be  foe  to  the  lip  that  hath 

smiled 
At  this  wee  bit  of  song  of  the  dear  little 

child. 


THE   MURMURING  FOUNTAIN.  99 

THE  MURMURING  FOUNTAIN. 

A   FABLE. 

n  What  a  wearisome  life  do  I  lead  here !" 
said  a  little  fountain  to  itself  one  day,  as  it 
bubbled  up  in  the  middle  of  a  very  small 
green  spot  in  an  unfrequented  part  of  a 
burning  desert.  "  What  an  insignificant 
little  fountain  I  am !  I  have  not  the  satis- 
faction of  pouring  out  a  large  stream  of 
water,  and  fertilizing  a  great  extent  of  this 
endless  desert.  If  I  were,  then  I  should  see 
whole  caravans  of  men,  and  horses,  and 
camels,  stop  around  me,  and  quench  their 
thirst,  and  repose  their  weary  limbs  upon 
the  fresh  green  grass  that  would  spring  up 
<about  me.  To  be  sure  it  is  green  as  far  as 
I  can  see,  for  I  am  such  a  very  little  stream 
that  my  vision  extends  but  a  very  little 
way ;  but  I  know  enough,  to  be  sure  that  it 


100  THE   MURMURING  FOUNTAIN. 

is  but  a  very  little  space  that  my  waters  can 
make  the  grass  green  and  keep  it  moist." 

As  the  little  spring  was  bubbling  out  in  a 
low  tone  these  lamentations,  she  heard  a 
bustle  and  a  noise  at  a  distance,  and  pre- 
sently the  cry  of  "  Joy !  Joy !"  was  heard. 
As  the  sound  came  nearer,  there  appeared  a 
party  of  travellers,  consisting  of  an  elderly 
gentleman  and  lady,  a  little  boy,  and  two 
servants,  who  were  assisting  the  gentleman 
to  support  a  young  girl,  who  seemed  to  be 
fainting  from  fatigue  or  some  other  cause. 
The  little  boy  first  reached  the  borders  of 
the  spring,  and  rushing  up  to  the  little 
fountain,  quenched  his  thirst  at  the  pure 
source,  and  ran  back  to  meet  his  party, 
crying  out,  "  Cheer  up,  sister,  here  is  a  sweet 
fountain,  and  a  nice  little  bed  of  green  grass, 
just  big  enough  for  you  to  lie  down  upon." 

The   party  now   came    up;    and   having 


THE   MURMURING  FOUNTAIN.  101 

placed  the  young  lady  upon  the  grass,  and 
sprinkled  her  face,  and  moistened  her  lips 
with  water,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  by 
degrees  regained  strength,  and  was  able  to 
support  herself. 

By  this  time  the  remainder  of  the  party 
came  up,  which  consisted  of  horses,  servants, 
and  camels,  furnished  with  all  the  usual 
appendages  of  caravans  in  the  desert.  As 
soon  as  they  stopped,  and  had  quenched  the 
thirst  of  the  men  and  the  beasts,  they  spread 
a  cloth,  and  arranged  a  meal,  which  was 
eaten  with  good  relish  by  all  the  party,  and 
by  none  with  a  better  than  the  young  lady? 
who  had  now  entirely  recovered  herself,  and 
was  able  to  take  her  part  in  the  gay  conver- 
sation. 

From  this  conversation,  which  was   gay 
now  that   the    dangers  were,  all   over,  the 
fountain  learned  that  the  party,  in  crossing 
9 


102  THE   MURMURING  FOUNTAIN. 

the  desert,  had  wandered  from  the*  usual 
path  which  led  by  one  of  the  large  springs, 
in  consequence  of  their  having  heard  that 
there  was  a  party  of  Arab  robbers  in  that 
neighborhood.  Their  trusty  guide,  whc 
knew  perfectly  all  the  parts  of  the  desert, 
was  acquainted  with  this  little  fountain,  and 
had  ventured  away  from  the  beaten  track, 
that  they  might  elude  the  robbers.  The 
path  proved  longer  than  they  had  expected, 
and  the  young  lady,  who  was  rather  delicate 
in  health,  had  become  almost  exhausted 
when  they  reached  the  welcome  spring  in 
the  manner  just  related. 

After  having  refreshed  and  rested  them- 
selves, the  party  resumed  their  journey,  and 
reached  the  end  of  it  in  safety.  They 
never  ceased  to  remember  with  gratitude  the 
little  spring  surrounded  with  its  border  of 
grass ;  and  the  young  lady,  who  drew  with 


THE    MURMURING   FOUNTAIN.  103 

some  skill,  made  a  little  sketch  of  the  foun- 
tain, which  she  finished  carefully  when  she 
reached  her  own  home  ;  and  it  formed  a  very 
pretty  picture,  at  which  the  family  often 
looked  with  pleasure. 

After  they  were  gone,  the  little  fountain 
bubbled  away  much  more  gladly  than  before. 
She  said  to  herself,  "  How  glad  I  am  that 
all  the  water  in  the  desert  was  not  poured 
out  into  the  great  springs,  but  that  there  are 
some  little  fountains  scattered  around,  here 
and  there !  And  what  a  happy  little  foun- 
tain I  am,  that  I  have  been  able  to  give  so 
much  pleasure  and  relief  to  those  good 
people !  I  will  never  vex  myself  at  my  in- 
significance again,  but  keep  bubbling  as  fast 
as  I  can,  although  I  only  fertilize  a  very 
little  spot  ;  since,  if  I  always  take  care  to 
sprinkle  the  water  about  so  judiciously  as  to 
keep  every  part   of  the   grass  within    my 


104  BE    PLEASANT. 

reach  moist  and  green,  and  always  have  a 
draught  ready  for  every  weary  traveller  that 
comes  this  way,  I  shall  do  all  that  is  ex- 
pected of  any  spring,  great  or  small." 


BE   PLEASANT. 

When  little  ones  worry, 
Their  parents  feel  sorry, 
And  all  who  are  near  them  are  sad ; 
But  when  they  are  good, 
And  smile  as  they  should, 
Their  friends  are  contented  and  glad. 
How  much  better  it  is  to  be  cheerful  and 

sing, 
Than  to  have  to  be  called,  "a  cross  little 
thing." 


EVENING  PRAYEE. 


Jesus,  tender  shephesd,  hear  me, 
Bless  a  little  child  to-night ; 

Through  the  darkness  be  thou  near  me, 
Watch  my  sleep  till  morning  light. 

(105) 


106  BIRDS    IN    SUMMER. 

All  this  day  thy  hand  hath  led  me, 
And  I  thank  thee  for  thy  care ; 

Thou  hast  clothed  me,  warmed  me,  fed  me, 
Listen  to  my  evening  prayer. 

Let  my  sins  be  all  forgiven ; 

Bless  the  friends  I  love  so  well : 
Take  me,  when  I  die,  to  heaven, 

Happy  there  with  thee  to  dwell. 


BIRDS   IN   SUMMER. 

How  pleasant  the  life  of  a  bird  must  be, 
Flitting  about  in  each  leafy  tree ; 
In  the  leafy  trees,  so  broad  and  tall, 
Like  a  green  and  beautiful  palace-hall, 
With  its  airy  chambers,  light  and  boon, 
That  open  to  sun  and  stars  and  moon, 
That  open  unto  the  bright  blue  sky, 
And  the  frolicsome  winds  as  they  wander  by. 


BIRDS    IN    SUMMER.  107 

They  have   left   their   nests  in  the  forest 

bough ; 
Those  homes  of  delight  they  need  not  now ; 
And  the  young  and  the  old  they  wander  out, 
And  traverse  their  green  world  round  about : 
And  hark  !  at  the  top  of  this  leafy  hall, 
How  one  to  the  other  they  lovingly  call ; 
"  Come  up,  come  up !"  they  seem  to  say, 
"  Where  the  topmost  twigs  in  the  breezes 

sway! 

"  Come  up,  come  up,  for  the  world  is  fair, 
Where  the  merry  leaves  dance  in  the  sum- 
mer air !" 
And  the  birds  below  give  back  the  cry, 
"  We  come,  we  come,  to  the  branches  high !" 
How  pleasant  the  life  of  a  bird  must  be, 
Flitting  about  in  a  leafy  tree ; 
And  away  through  the  air  what  joy  to  go, 
And  to  look  on  the  bright,  green  earth  below. 


108  BIRDS    IN    SUMMER. 

How  pleasant  the  life  of  a  bird  must  be, 
Skimming  about  on  the  breezy  sea, 
Cresting  the  billows  like  silvery  foam, 
And   then  wheeling  away  to  its  cliff-built 

home! 
What  joy  it  must  be  to  sail,  upborne 
By  a  strong,  free  wing,  through  the  rosy- 
morn, 
To  meet  the  young  sun  face  to  face, 
And  pierce  like  a  shaft  the  boundless  space ! 

How  pleasant  the  life  of  a  bird  must  be, 
Wherever  it  listeth,  there  to  flee ; 
To  go,  when  a  joyful  fancy  calls, 
Dashing  adown  'mong  the  waterfalls, 
Then    wheeling   about   with   its    mates   at 

play, 
Above  and  below,  and  among  the  spray, 
Hither  and  thither,  with  screams  as  wild, 
As  the  laughing  mirth  of  a  rosy  child ! 


THE    TWO    ADVISERS.  109 

What  joy  it  must  be,  like  a  living  breeze, 
To  flutter  about  'mong  the  flowering  trees ; 
Lightly  to  soar,  and  to  see  beneath 
The  wastes  of  the  blossoming  purple  heath, 
And  the  j'ellow  furze,  like  fields  of  gold, 
That  gladden  some  fairy  regions  old ! 
On  mountain  tops,  on  the  billowy  sea, 
On  the  leafy  stems  of  the  forest  tree, 
How  pleasant  the  life  of  a  bird  must  be ! 

Mrs.  Howitt. 


THE   TWO  ADVISERS. 

There  was  once  a  little  girl  whose  name 
was  Kitty,  and  she  had  two  advisers  who 
were  always  telling  her  what  she  had  better 
do.  One  generally  spoke  the  quickest,  and 
that  I  shall  call  the  first  adviser;  the  other, 
who  was  modest,  though  very  faithful,  shall 
be  called  the  second.    Sometimes  she  minded 


110  THE    TWO    ADVISERS. 

one,  and  sometimes  the  other,  and  according 
as  she  heeded  the  one  or  the  other,  so  she 
behaved. 

Kitty  slept  in  a  little  room  near  her 
mother's,  and  her  mother  usually  waked  her 
in  the  morning  with  "Jump  up,  Kitty." 
Early  one  winter's  morning,  "Jump  up, 
Kitty,"  waked  the  child,  and  she  lifted  her 
head,  and  it  looked  early,  and  felt  quite 
wintry.  "  I  would  not  get  up,"  said  the 
first  adviser,  who  was  always  sure  to  be  at 
hand,  "  be  quiet  in  your  snug  little  bed ;  it 
is  very  cold  and  early ;  stay  where  you  are 
warm." 

"Kitty,  it  is  time  to  be  stirring,"  whis- 
pered the  other,  for  they  were  alwTays  cross- 
counselling  each  other.  "  It  is  time  to  be 
stirring,  Kitty;  your  morning  duties  are 
waiting  for  you  ;  up,  up !"  Kitty  thought 
a  moment,  and  then  jumped  up.     She  care- 


THE    TWO    ADVISERS.  Ill 

fully  dressed  herself;  then  she  shut  the  door 
and  knelt  down  to  pray,  thanking  God  for 
his  kind  care  through  the  night,  and  asking 
for  help  through  the  day.  Then  she  skipped 
out,  crying  joyfully,  "  Mamma,  can  I  help 
you?  can  I  help  you,  dear  mamma?"  but 
her  mamma  had  gone  down  stairs  ;  so  she 
sat  down  by  the  fire  in  her  mother's  chamber, 
and  began  to  study  her  spelling  lesson ;  and 
study  Kitty  did  with  all  her  might.  After 
breakfast  she  dusted  the  parlor,  and  brought 
papa's  boots,  and  hushed  the  baby,  and  did 
all  she  had  to  do  with  a  sweet  and  willing 
spirit;  and  her  mother  thought,  as  her  little 
one  went  to  school,  "  What  a  comfort  Kitty 
is  to  me."  All  the  morning  Kitty  was 
hearkening  to  the  second  adviser. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  wTas  during  the  fore- 
noon at  school,  but  as  Kitty  was  walking 
down  the  sunny  side  of  the  street,  on  the 


112  THE    TWO    ADVISERS. 

way  to  school  in  the  afternoon,  "It  is  too 
pleasant  to  be  cooped  up  in  a  school-room, * 
whispered  the  first  adviser;  "it  is  nice  to 
walk,  it  is  nice  to  play,  to  slide,  or  do  some- 
thing else."  Kitty  listened,  and  as  she 
listened,  she  lagged  and  lagged  more  and 
more,  until,  in  quite  a  discontented  mood, 
she  reached  the  school-room.  School  had 
begun,  and  she  wTas  tardy ;  this  was  quite 
provoking.  Kitty  went  to  her  seat,  and  sat 
down  in  a  rather  pettish  manner.  "Plea- 
santer  to  be  walking  than  to  be  here," 
whispered  the  same  adviser.  Then  she 
opened  her  desk,  and  screened  by  the  cover 
from  the  teacher's  eye,  she  began  to  whisper 
to  one  of  the  girls  to  go  to  walk  after  school ; 
but  the  teacher  saw  it,  and  it  grieved  her. 
Then  Kitty  nibbled  a  cake.  Then,  when 
her  class  was  called  up  her  lesson  was  not 
learned,  and  she  missed,  and  she  pouted,  and 


THE    TWO    ADVISERS.  113 

the  first  adviser  kept  saying,  "  it  is  too  long 
a  lesson  by  half;"  and  Kitty  cried,  and  said 
she  could  not  learn  it.  Alas,  Kitty  had  not 
tried,  and  the  teacher  was  sorely  grieved, 
and  she  said,  "Kitty  can  be  studious  and 
good,  but  sometimes  she  is  very  troublesome." 
Now,  which  adviser  was  the  safest  and 
best;  the  first  or  the  second?  The  first 
was  called  Feeling,  and  the  second  Principle. 
Feeling  seeks  only  to  gratify  for  the  moment; 
Principle  endeavors  to  do  what  is  right. 
Feeling  looks  only  at  self;  Principle  has  an 
eye  on  the  comfort  and  interests  of  others  as 
well  as  self.  Feeling  is  uncertain,  unsteady, 
and  not  to  be  relied  upon ;  Principle  is  true, 
straightforward,  and  trusty.  Which  adviser 
is  safest  and  best ;  and  which  do  the  little 
girls  follow  who  read  this  ? 

X.-H  10 


114  THE    CHILD'S    PRAYER. 

THE  CHILD'S  PRAYER. 

Gently  o'er  the  evening  sky, 
Rosy  clouds  were  floating  by, 
While  the  sunset's  glowing  rays 
Tinged  with  gold  the  forest  trees, 
Sparkling  on  the  flowing  river, 
Where  the  water  lillies  quiver. 

Near  its  flow'ry  margin  fair, 
Knelt  a  little  child  at  prayer — 
With  clasped  hands,  and  dewy  eyes, 
Like  the  azure  of  the  skies ; 
And  a  brow  serene  and  holy, 
Murm'ring  thus  in  accents  lowly. 

"  Father,  who  from  Heaven  above, 
Lookest  down  on  earth  in  love — 
Guard  me  through  the  coming  night, 
Bless  me  with  the  morning  light; 
And  when  Death  each  tie  shall  sever, 
Let  me  live  with  Thee  forever." 


THE    CANARY    BIRD.  115 

THE   CANARY  BIRD. 

A  little  girl  named  Caroline  had  a  charm- 
ing Canary  bird.  The  little  creature  sang 
from  early  morning  until  evening ;  it  was  a 
very  beautiful  bird,  of  a  bright  yellow,  with 
a  black  head.  Caroline  gave  it  seeds  and 
green  vegetables,  and,  at  times,  a  piece  of 
sugar,  and  every  day  fresh  and  pure  water. 

But  all  at  once  the  little  bird  began  to 
droop ;  and  one  morning,  as  Caroline  came 
to  bring  it  water,  it  lay  dead  in  its  cage. 

The  little  girl  raised  loud .  lamentations 
over  the  beloved  bird,  and  wept  bitterly. 
But  the  child's  mother  went  and  purchased 
another,  with  colors  still  more  beautiful,  and 
which  sang  as  sweetly  as  the  former  one, 
and  placed  it  in  the  cage. 

But  the  little  girl  wept  still  more  when 
she  saw  the  new  bird. 


116  THE    CANARY    BIRD. 

Then  the  mother  wondered  greatly,  and 
said,  "My  dear  child,  why  dost  thou  still 
weep?  why  art  thou  so  very  sad?  Thy 
tears  will  not  call  the  dead  bird  back  to  life 
again,  and  here  thou  hast  another  equally 
beautiful." 

Then  the  child  said,  "  Ah,  dear  mother,  I 
have  acted  unkindly  toward  the  little  crea- 
ture, and  I  have  not  done  all  for  it  that  I 
could  and  ought  to  have  done." 

"  Dear  Lina,"  answered  the  mother,  "  thou 
hast  tended  it  very  carefully." 

"  Ah,  no !"  replied  the  child.  "  A  short 
time  before  its  death,  I  did  not  bring  it  a 
piece  of  sugar  which  you  gave  me  for  it,  but 
ate  it  myself."  Thus  spoke  the  little  girl 
with  a  heavy  heart. 

But  the  mother  did  not  smile  at  her  com- 
plaints, for  she  recognised  and  revered  the 
sacred  voice  of  nature  in  the  heart  of  the 
child. 


a  child's  prayer.  117 

"Alas !"  she  said,  "what  must  be  the  feel- 
ings of  an  ungrateful  child,  when  it  stands 
by  the  grave  of  its  parents !" 


CHILD'S  PRAYER. 

Sweeter  than  the  songs  of  thrushes, 

When  the  winds  are  low ; 
Brighter  than  the  spring-time  blushes, 

Reddening  out  of  snow, 
Were  the  voice  and  cheek  so  fair, 

Of  the  little  child  at  prayer. 

Like  a  white  lamb  of  the  meadow, 
Climbing  through  the  light ; 

Like  a  priestess  in  the  shadow 
Of  the  temple  bright, 

Seemed  she,  saying,  Holy  One, 
Thine  and  not  my  will  be  done. 


118  THE    STRAYED    LAMB. 

THE   STRAYED  LAMB. 

A  giddy  lamb  one  afternoon 
Had  from  the  fold  departed ; 

The  tender  shepherd  missed  it  soon, 
And  sought  it,  broken-hearted. 

Not  all  the  flock  that  shared  his  love, 
Could  from  the  search  delay  him ; 

Nor  clouds  of  midnight  darkness  move, 
Nor  fear  of  suffering  stay  him. 

But  night  and  day  he  went  his  way, 

In  sorrow  till  he  found  it ; 
And  when  he  saw  it  fainting  lie, 

He  clasped  his  arms  around  it. 

And  closely  sheltered  in  his  breast, 

From  every  ill  to  save  it ; 
He  brought  it  to  his  home  of  rest, 

And  pitied  and  forgave  it. 


THE   FIRST   AND   LAST   THEFT.  119 

And  so  the  Saviour  will  forgive 
The  little  ones  that  fear  him; 

Their  pains  remove,  their  sins  forgive, 
And  draw  them  gently  near  him : 

Bless  while  they  live,  and  when  they  die, 

When  soul  and  body  sever, 
Conduct  them  to  his  home  on  high, 

To  dwell  with  him  for  ever. 


MY  FIRST  AND  LAST  THEFT. 

Now,  my  little  friends,  I  am  about  to  con- 
fess to  you  an  incident  of  my  childhood — a 
very  sinful  act,  but  one  which  I  am  per- 
suaded resulted  in  a  repentance  over  which 
the  angels  in  heaven  rejoiced ;  for  its  memory 
has  proved  a  fortress  against  temptation  in 
all  my  subsequent  life.     But  I  will  relate 


120  THE   FIRST    AND   LAST   THEFT. 

the  incident,  and  make  my  comments  after- 
ward. I  was  five  years  old,  and  I  recollect 
now,  that  so  strong  was  my  passion  for 
everything  beautiful,  I  used  to  wish  I  could 
gather  the  stars  and  the  beautiful  red  and 
golden  clouds  in  my  apron,  as  I  did  the 
buttercups  and  daisies  of  the  meadows.  I 
attended  the  village  school ;  it  was  summer 
time,  and  the  older  girls  learned  the  various 
branches  of  needle-work.  One  girl  was  con- 
structing some  very  beautiful  patch-work, 
and,  as  I  feasted  rny  eager  eyes  on  the  bright 
colors  and  curious  figures  of  the  separate 
pieces,  I  became  covetous  of  their  possession. 
But  I  had  already  imbibed  too  strong  a 
horror  of  theft  to  be  guilty  of  abstracting 
the  tiniest  patch  from  the  rightful  owner. 
One  morning,  however,  being  first  at  school, 
I  discovered  one  of  the  most  coveted  pieces 
upon  the  floor,  at  some  distance  from  Cyn- 


THE   FIRST   AND   LAST   THEFT.  121 

thia's  desk.  I  took  it  in  my  hand  in  a  per- 
fect rapture.  The  treasure  was  mine,  and  I 
danced  merrily  around,  gazing  the  while 
upon  the  piece  of  calico.  But  suddenly  the 
thought  intruded,  "I  know  whose  it  is. 
Cynthia  would  not  give  it  to  me,  and  I  have 
no  right  to  keep  it."  "  But,"  whispered 
covetousness,  "you  found  it,  and  have  a 
right  to  keep  it."  How  the  struggle  be- 
tween my  good  and  evil  angel  would  then 
have  terminated  is  doubtful,  as  the  coming 
of  other  scholars  interrupted  the  parley,  and 
cut  off  the  possibility  of  replacing  the  patch 
where  the  owner  would  be  sure  to  find  it. 
I  thrust  it  in  my  bosom,  and  went  to  my 
seat.  But  alas !  my  spirits  were  gone.  I 
had  no  relish  for  my  usual  sports,  and  while 
my  schoolmates  were  enjoying  their  recesses 
in  the  most  uproarious  mirth,  I  was  silent 
and  abstracted ;  my  little  heart  was  a  fierce 


122  THE   FIRST   AND   LAST   THEFT. 

battle-ground  between  the  contending  spirits 
of  good  and  evil.  Oh,  how  I  longed  for  an 
opportunity,  unobserved,  to  return  the  stolen 
patch !  for  I  had  at  length  resolved  that  it 
was  stealing  to  keep  what  I  knew  belonged 
to  another,  even  though  I  found  it  out  of 
her  possession  ;  at  any  rate,  it  was  not  doing 
as  I  would  be  done  by,  and  I  felt  myself  a 
criminal  under  condemnation  until  restitu- 
tion was  made,  I  do  not  recollect  that  I 
had  any  fear  of  detection,  but  I  had  that 
instinctive  regard  for  my  reputation,  that  I 
would  not  return  it  openly ;  my  conscious- 
ness of  the  wrong  I  had  meditated,  being  so 
absorbing  as  to  associate  the  acknowledg- 
ment of  it  with  an  acknowledgment  of  pos- 
session ;  and  this,  I  philosophised,  did  not 
come  under  the  head  of  those  sins  which 
were  to  be  confessed  to  men,  the  injury  be- 
ing reparable  without  confession.     I  found 


THE   FIRST   AND   LAST   THEFT.  123 

no  opportunity  to  return  the  corroding  trea- 
sure, and  was  obliged  to  carry  it  to  my 
home,  and  here  I  hoped  to  forget  it  till  the 
morning.  But  no ;  my  theft  found  me  out 
even  there.  I  passed  a  sleepless  night;  I 
avoided  my  mother's  presence,  for  I  felt  that 
her  inquiring  eye  would  draw  my  secret 
from  me,  and  how  could  I  have  her  know 
how  nearly  I  had  committed  the  sin  she  had 
taught  me  to  abhor?  I  was  first  at  the 
school-room  on  that  morning,  and  laid  the 
now  hateful  calico  upon  Cynthia's  desk. 
And  if  ever  I  have  been  tempted  in  subse- 
quent life  to  appropriate  to  my  own  selfish 
use,  though  indirectly,  the  rights,  the  privi- 
leges, or  the  praise  j  ustly  due  to  others,  the 
memory  of  my  first  theft  has  turned  my 
grateful  heart  to  the  contemplation  of  those 
thornless  joys  which  ever  flow  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  rendering  to  each  his  due,  of 


124  THE   FIRST   AND   LAST   THEFT. 

"  doing  to  others  as  we  would  have  others 
do  to  us."  And  now,  my  young  friends, 
have  you  not  a  first  theft  to  remember?  and 
did  you  not  find  the  possession  of  what  you 
thought  would  make  you  very  happy,  a 
source  of  misery  ?  Did  you  not  loathe  your- 
self, and  seek  to  escape  from  your  thoughts  ? 
And  did  not  the  thought  of  God  and  heaven 
rest  with  a  frown  upon  all  your  enjoyments  ? 
And  have  you  struggled  against  temptation 
to  do  wrong,  and  come  off  conqueror  over 
evil  ?  And  were  you  not  then  happier  with- 
out the  coveted  blessing  than  you  could  have 
been,  I  had  almost  said,  in  its  rightful  at- 
tainment ?  Yes,  the  sweetest  enjoyment  of 
our  lives  is  that  which  we  win  in  overcoming 
evil — the  trophies  wrested  from  temptations 
to  sin.  Remember  this  when  you  find  your- 
self face  to  face  with  the  spirit  of  evil,  and 
gird  on  your  armor,  resolving  never  to  sur- 
render.    "  Heaven  speeds  the  right." 


FLOWERS.  125 


FLOWEES 


The  flowers  are  blooming  everywhere, 

On  every  hill  and  dell ; 
And  oh,  how  beautiful  they  are, 

How  sweetly  too  they  smell ! 

The  little  birds,  they  spring  along, 

And  look  so  glad  and  gay ; 
I  love  to  hear  their  pleasant  song, 

I  feel  as  glad  as  they. 

The  young  lambs  bleat  and  frisk  about, 
The  bees  hum  round  the  hive, 

The  butterflies  are  coming  out : 
'T  is  good  to  be  alive. 
11 


126  THE    LITTLE    DORMOUSE. 


THE   LITTLE  DORMOUSE. 

The  little  Dormouse  is  tawny  red ; 
He  makes  against  winter   a  nice  snug  bed ; 
He  makes  his  bed  in  a  mossy  bank, 
Where  the  plants  in  the  summer  grow  tall 

and  rank : 
Away  from  the  daylight,  far  under  ground, 
His  sleep  through  the  winter  is  quiet  and 

sound, 
And  when   all   above   him   it   freezes   and 

snows, 
What  is  it  to  him  ? — naught  of  it  he  knows ; 
And  till  the  cold  time  of  the  winter  is  gone, 
The  little  Dormouse  keeps  sleeping  on. 

But  at  last,  in  the  fresh  breezy  days  of  the 

spring, 
When  the  green  leaves  bud,  and  the  merry 

birds  sing, 


THE    LITTLE    DORMOUSE.  127 

And  the  dread  of  winter  is  over  and  past, 
The  little  Dormouse  peeps  out  at  last. 
Out  of  his  snug,  quiet  burrow  he  wends, 
And  looks  all  about  for  his  neighbors  and 

friends ; 
Then  he  says,  as  he  sits  at  the  foot  of  a 

larch, 
"  'T  is  a  beautiful  day  for  the  first  of  March  ! 
The   Yiolet   is    blowing,   the    blue   sky   is 

clear ; 
The  Lark  is  upspringing,  his  carol  I  hear ; 
And  in  the  green  fields  are  the  Lamb  and 

the  Foal; 
I  am  glad  I  'm  not  sleeping  now  down  in  my 

hole!" 

Then  away  he  runs,  in  his  merry  mood, 
Over  the  fields  and  into  the  wood, 
To  find  any  grain  there  may  chance  to  be, 
Or  any  small  berry  that  hangs  on  the  tree. 


128         THE    LITTLE    DORMOUSE. 

So  from  early  morning  till  late  at  night, 
Has  the  poor  little  creature  its  own  delight, 
Looking  down  to  the  earth  and  up  to  the 

sky, 
Thinking,  "  What  a  happy  Dormouse  am  I !" 

Mrs.  Howitt. 


THE    END. 


